


Where the Lines Overlap

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Fluff, Roommates, pseudo angsty at first but lets be real I can't write angst, this is going to be all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt: Modern day college AU where things got mixed up and Clarke and Bellamy get set as roommates. They hate each other at first, but kind of grow on each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm not used to it (But I can learn)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chap fic, set to be 6 chapters for now. I was going to wait to post until the whole thing was finished, but that didn't happen, so here's hoping posting this now will light a fire under my ass. ANYWAYS, this first chapter is going to be longer than the others, just because I wanted to get at least a little fluff in the first installment. (Realistically though, this whole thing is going to be fluff.) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The hugest of props go to sw33td3mon on tumblr for #codingwarstories which is her brainchild and also the inspiration behind my favorite scene in the first chapter.
> 
> (Story and chapter titles from Paramore's Where the Lines Overlap.)

“Mom, really, it’s fine,” Clarke said, shooing her mother away from the cart holding all her things.

Move-in day was simultaneously the worst and best day of the year. Best because Clarke liked the idea of a clean start, worst because of the crowds. Thankfully, as a sophomore at Ark U, Clarke knew how to avoid most of the obstacles: how to unload and unpack in minimum time and which elevators to use to escape the throngs of freshmen wielding over-stuffed carts.

Finally convincing her mother she didn’t need help unpacking, Clarke sent her off with a promise to call sooner rather than later, heaving a sigh when she’d finally gone. Things were better between them than they had been since her father’s death, but it was still hard.

She made her way into her building and waited for the elevator. When the doors pinged open, she pushed her cart forward and, not noticing that there was already someone inside, only barely avoided pushing her cart into theirs.

“Hey, watch it!” a deep voice rang out, clearly annoyed.

Clarke cringed. It wasn’t as if she had actually hit him. It was move in day though, she figured, everyone was a bit stressed.

“Sorry,” she quipped, doing her best to keep her own slight annoyance out of her words. When she glanced up at the owner of the voice, she was met with dark messy hair and an undeniably handsome face, tan and covered in freckles.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he retorted, not even bothering to look at her.

_Too bad his personality isn’t as nice as his face._

The doors slid closed and Clarke turned to the panel—clearly, he wasn’t going to ask her what floor she needed—only to find the level 2 button already illuminated.

When they reached the second floor, Clarke pushed her cart out ahead of her, eager to be rid of her foul tempered companion. As she turned down the hallway, she heard a second set of cart wheels behind hers; apparently their rooms were near each other’s.  She wasn’t going to let it bother her, though. It didn’t mean she’d ever actually have to see him. 

Coming to a stop in front of her room, she swung her bag off her shoulder to scrounge for her keys, pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear.

A pointed cough had her looking up to find the dark haired boy—she should say _man_ , really, considering the way he towered over her—stopped right behind her.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, somewhat exasperatedly.

“Oh, I’m just wondering why you’re stopped in front of my room,” he said, a mocking smirk on his face, clearly anticipating her embarrassment at the mistake.

Clarke took one look down at the key in her hand, not that she ever really doubted that she had the right room, before holding it up to him triumphantly.

“Actually, I think _you’ve_ got the wrong room,” she said, watching his eyes narrow as he read the number on her key—237—that matched the number above the door.

She wasn’t expecting him to pull out his own key, and _definitely_ wasn’t expecting it to read the same number as hers. 

Roommate assignment had been random, and they’d only been given the last name of their co-inhabitor. Which would mean that this was...

“Blake?” she asked, looking up at him with questioning eyes, silently begging him to contradict her.

He nodded, expression unreadable, “And that means you must be Griffin.”

“There has to be some kind of mistake, they don’t put guys and girls in the same room.” She stuck her key in the lock, turning it and opening the door to push her cart inside

He followed, muttering a disgruntled “obviously,” under his breath as he pushed past her into the room.

 _Crap—_ she remembered distractedly— _I told Professor Kane I’d turn in that proposal today._ True, classes hadn’t even started yet, but if she wanted to get into a good med school, she needed this internship. She frowned.

Her thoughts were torn from her academic anxieties by his deep, patronizing voice, “Trust me, I don’t like it either, Princess, but asking the admin to change it would be a mess, so it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

He wasn’t wrong. Somehow the dorms at Ark U were always at the bottom of the totem pole in terms what the administration actually cared about. Still, she kind of snapped. Blame the stress and his infuriatingly casual tone.

“No. No, I am not dealing with,” she gestured angrily at him, “ _this_ all year. Just go tell them there was a mix up, because I clearly checked the ‘not an asshole’ box on the roommate preference form.”

“Ha. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he hissed back heatedly, turning to face her head on. Gone was his smug nonchalance. “Life must be nice for you, just commanding people around huh Princess? No need to bother attempting to be pleasant.”

She stared him down angrily for a moment, reeling from the implications of his statement. She was about to start in on the fact that he sure as hell wasn’t pleasant either, but thought better of it and threw up her hands, “You know what? Don’t move out, I don’t care.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

She turned to dig for her backpack in the cart, but her voice was still seething, “I’m going to have too much work to even notice a roommate, so it doesn’t matter if it’s you or anyone else,” upon finding the paper she was looking for, she turned back to him in equal measures of exasperation and anger, “So stay. I really don’t give a shit.”

She started for the door, “I’m going out, I’ll unpack later.”

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

“Do _not_ call me that,” she yelled over her shoulder, the door slamming behind her.

* * *

Clarke didn’t come back to the dorm until hours later.

She’d caught Kane on his way out of the office and then stopped by a café nearby to catch up with some friends.

Somehow Jasper, Monty, and Raven were always able to put a smile on her face, no matter how bad a day she’d had. So of course she divulged her roommate situation, causing Jasper and Monty to laugh uproariously, and Raven to mumble something along the lines of, “never could turn down the chance to prove someone wrong.”

Which was totally not true. She legitimately did _not_ care who her roommate was, and her unwillingness to talk to the admin herself had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d insinuated that she was a fundamentally unpleasant person. Nothing at all.

Pulling out her key as she reached the room later, Clarke noticed that a sheet of paper with their names on it had been attached to the cork board on the door.

_Room 237_

_Clarke Griffin_

_Bellamy Blake_

Huh, so her surly roommate had a first name.

She opened the door to find the room empty. And organized. Which was a surprise. She didn’t always buy into the ‘boys are slobs’ stereotype, but she’d kind of figured that would be the case with Blake. _Bellamy_ , she mentally corrected.

Her side of the room, however, was a different story. She heaved a sigh before digging into the boxes.

Bellamy didn’t return until hours later, after she’d finished unpacking and had long since started in on her reading for the first week of classes.

He grunted in greeting and she responded in kind. He dropped a bag of textbooks to the floor before sitting down at his own desk on the opposite side of the room, such that they were facing away from each other.

Clarke could handle this, she thought, having a roommate who she despised but didn’t have to talk to. It would be just fine.

* * *

Except somehow they found ways to argue over stupid things that didn’t seem stupid at the time.

Shouting matches that began with, “Would you turn that _down_?” or “Would it _kill_ you to take your hair out of the shower drain?” tended to end in angry, grudging silences when both of them refused to apologize.

Friday afternoon, Clarke heard a knock at the door and went to get it, seeing as Bellamy was sprawled out on his bed, headphones on, surrounded by an avalanche of classwork and textbooks. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to disturb him, she told herself, just that trying to make him get up would only result in another unnecessary argument.

She opened the door to find a fiery eyed brunette with a wide smile on her face.

“Hi! You must be Clarke!”

Clarke raised her eyebrows questioningly and the brunette let out a warm, tinkling laugh.

“Oh, sorry! It’s on the door,” she said, gesturing. “Plus my brother told me about how housing accidentally stuck him with a stubborn blonde.” She held up her hands defensively when Clarke raised her eyebrows, “His words, not mine. I’m Octavia.”

Clarke shook her outstretched hand— _sister_ , huh, apparently the surly personality didn’t run in the family—before stepping aside to let her in, glaring pointedly at her roommate, who was still absorbed in his work.

“I’ve got a name you know, asshole,” she said loudly to get his attention.

Finally hearing above his music, he glanced up in disgruntled confusion, his eyes narrowing at her briefly before softening when he noticed his sister. He plucked one headphone out of his ear.

“Hey O, what’s up? You get settled in okay?” Clarke was equal parts surprised by the genuine concern in his voice and irritated that he had ignored her completely.

Octavia, who had apparently caught that too, rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, pausing and then turning to point at Clarke, her eyes not leaving her brother’s.

“Clarke,” she said pointedly, “your roommate’s name is Clarke, and she doesn’t seem so stubborn considering she’s the one who bothered to open the door for me.”

Bellamy, to his credit, had the decency to look a little sheepish, mumbling, “I know what her name is…” He trailed off then, but his eyes widened after a moment. He turned to face the blonde in question, playful smile on his face.

“Hey princess, I think I figured out how we got stuck in this mess.”

Clarke glared. “I told you to not to call me that, you know my damn name,” she grumbled, turning to collect her now completed homework from the desk.

Bellamy just waved her off. “Clarke,” He said, pausing for effect.

She rolled her eyes exasperatedly, still facing away from him, “Great, was that so hard?”

“No, I mean,” there was the beginnings of laughter in his voice, “your name’s Clarke, they probably just assumed you were a guy.”

Clarke turned to scowl at him. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that, blame her parents’ penchant for pseudo androgynous names. So it shouldn’t surprise her that her roommate, damn _Bellamy Blake_ —

A wonderful realization cut off her thoughts and a slow, mischievous smile spread across her face, which had the upside of leaving him taken aback, as she nearly collapsed into laughter herself.

“But you couldn’t say you’re any better, could you, _Bellamy_? How do you know they don’t think _you're_  a _girl_?”

Octavia laughed loudly at that. “She’s got a point big brother,” she said, slapping his back. As the younger Blake’s laughter filled the room, Clarke decided right then that she liked Octavia.

Bellamy looked stunned for a moment, and as she turned back to him, Clarke half expected him to glare at her again.

But then his face split into a smile— _and god what a smile_ , came her unbidden thought—and then he was laughing too, not like the mocking one from before, but a full, wonderful laugh, and Clarke couldn’t help joining in.

“This has got to be the stupidest coincidence ever,” she wheezed through the laughter.

“You’re telling me, princess,” he managed in response.

She glared briefly, tossing a pillow at him, “How many times…I told you not to call me that,” but her frown was soon overtaken by the infectious laughter that apparently _did_ run in the family, because somehow it was impossible not to laugh in the presence of two giddy Blake siblings.

As she watched Bellamy laugh from across the room she couldn’t help thinking that maybe this whole mix-up wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

* * *

That didn’t mean things were necessarily smooth from then on. They still argued about stupid things and let bad feelings hang in the air when one of them refused to apologize.

Octavia was a lifesaver in that way, always able to break the tension when she stopped by. (And she seemed to know it too, considering she was never missing from their room for more than two or three days at a time.)

And so, with Octavia as a buffer, they eventually got to know each other, albeit unintentionally.

Bellamy learned not only was Clarke pre-med, which was a feat of its own, but also that she worked odd hours wherever she could pick them up, usually at the tiny used bookstore a few blocks away or the coffee shop across campus.

That had been a surprise to him at first, since he’d assumed she didn’t really need the money. He remembered her mentioning to Octavia at some point that her mother worked pretty high up in the University. But he’d also caught on that she wasn’t all that keen to discuss her family. Which was fine, he wasn’t going to ask.

As much as it pained him to admit, she really wasn’t a bad roommate. Not completely uncivil, as he’d implied the first time they’d met. She was clean and fairly organized (Until she got stressed that is, but he was the same way so he couldn’t complain). She kept mostly to herself, but could be coaxed into conversation when Octavia was around and she seemed to sincerely like his sister, which made it infuriatingly hard to hate her.

(He refused admit to himself that he was fascinated by her smiles, the ones that spread across her face when she was genuinely happy. He definitely wasn’t going to admit that he’d noticed they were outnumbered by more brittle, forced ones more often than not.)

Clarke learned that Bellamy, for all his bravado, really had no idea what he wanted to study. At all. He was a year above her and had somehow managed to take the most random assortment of classes, from management to art, to psychology, math, botany, biology. But even though he hadn’t chosen a major, he put effort into every course he took—something Clarke admired about him when he wasn’t being an ass or calling her ridiculous nicknames.

And really, she couldn’t say she still thought he was an ass. You couldn’t see the way he loved Octavia and say he wasn’t a caring person. Now that Clarke knew how he’d basically raised her since she was a child—she’d learned that from Octavia, not Bellamy—she began to pick out all the ways he tried to make life easier for her.

Like her, Bellamy worked odd jobs when he could, trying to keep Octavia from needing to take out too many student loans. He helped her work out her schedule each quarter, and always attempted to help her with homework when she needed it, even when Clarke knew he had plenty of his own to attend to.

Sometimes, when Clarke caught a glimpse of him sleeping—which wasn’t often, since he always seemed to get to bed after and wake up before her, which _couldn’t_ be healthy—she was mesmerized by how peaceful he looked. Which she would sooner take to the grave than confide in anyone.

And so they managed to go on without killing each other. And it was okay. Sometimes it was even nice. They both worked themselves to the bone, and neither could deny it was somehow comforting to have someone in the same room while they worked, equally drowning in stress.

* * *

One night in the throes of midterm season, Clarke returned to the room after her late night shift at the coffee shop.

She greeted him with a quiet, “hey,” as she nudged the door shut behind her.

He hummed in response, eyes glued to his computer until a coffee cup slid into his field of vision.

He looked up at her, her expression unreadable, “What’s this?”

She rolled her eyes, “I accidentally made the wrong drink, thought you might want it.”

She locked her eyes with his, as if daring him to reject her kindness. Instead he just raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, _Accidentally? Really?_

She huffed, giving in, “Are you really going to make me say it Blake?” When she was met with silence, she sighed again, “You’ve been growling at your computer for, like, three days straight, I figured you could use all the caffeine you can get.”

She held the drink out to him again, “It’s a mocha, light on the chocolate.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure if he was capable of raising his eyebrows any higher as his hand closed around the cup.

“That’s my favorite. Which is…really kind of creepy, Griffin.”

She looked surprised for a moment, then rolled her eyes, which she did a lot, Bellamy was starting to realize. But then again, maybe she only did it around him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s what Octavia always gets, so I figured it would be a safe bet.”

“Wait, you get coffee with Octavia?” _And on a regular enough basis that she knew her usual order?_

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, pretty often actually. Your sister’s a cool kid. Turns out not everyone with the last name Blake is completely insufferable,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes—damn, she was rubbing off on him—before giving her a small smile. “Thanks, really,” he said, lifting the cup at her before taking a sip.

She nodded in response, turning to her desk.

“Now if only it could help me figure out this damn programming assignment,” he grumbled under his breath.

“What language?” He nearly flinched when he heard her voice next to his ear. He turned slightly to see her blonde waves just inches from his face.

“C++,” he responded, drawing a deep breath as his eyes returned to the screen, “And I’ve been staring at this damn loop for hours trying to figure out where I went wrong.” He dropped his head to the desk in defeat. How was he supposed to pass this class if he couldn’t even finish the homework?

“You want me to take a look?” came her quiet voice.

He lifted his head slightly, peering up at her where she was hovering just over his shoulder “You know C++?”

She laughed softly, “I mean, _know_ might be too strong of a word, but I did take two quarters of it last year.”

He sat up straight again, gesturing to the computer, “By all means.”

She took the laptop from his desk and dropped down onto his bed with it in her lap, absentmindedly tying her hair up on top of her head as she scanned the lines of code.

Bellamy let his eyes linger a moment too long on this girl who was nothing like what he’d first thought. He also didn’t miss the fact that she’d made herself comfortable on his side of the room, which somehow made him happy. Then he looked away, because _where the hell did that come from?_

He turned his attention to the flashcards he’d made for his macro biology midterm. He’d hardly started studying thanks to the killer programming assignment.

Clarke glanced up at him a couple minutes later, a triumphant, radiant smile on her face.

“What? Did you find it?”

“Yep! It’s—”

“Hold on,” he cut her off, holding up a hand. Her eyebrows furrowed questioningly.

“That took you less than five minutes, I need to mentally prepare my ego for the beating it’s going to take.”

The v between her eyes deepened a moment, and then her voice was biting, “Dear god, Bellamy, please don’t make this about how girls usually suck at programming, because I swear…”

“Clarke.” She looked at him. A smirk played at the corners of his lips, “Do you really think I would have survived with Octavia as my sister if I actually bought into that? I’m just saying it’s a bit humbling to get help from my sworn enemy.” He grinned at that so she’d know he was joking. He didn’t think of them as enemies anymore, not by a long shot.

“Now, come on, hit me with it.”

She sighed after second, and smiled apologetically at him, “Right, sorry.”

Placing the computer back on his desk, she extended her arm over his shoulder to point.

“Right here, you need a second equals sign, ‘cause right now you’re just reassigning the variable value every time you pass through the loop. So it’s always gonna run as if the condition is true.”

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands, because _really?_ He’d been slaving hours over a damn _equals sign_?

She laughed, patting him on the back, “Don’t feel too bad, I made that same mistake about five times before it finally stuck in my head.”

She paused, absentmindedly turning to stare at the dark sky through the window, “Actually, this brings back some pretty painful memories of trekking to the computer lab at 2 am to work through bugs. Not fun, let me tell you. It’s kind of tradition to pass down coding war stories to students entering the class,” she quirked a smile, turning back to him. “I probably should have let you struggle through it, not fair that you don’t have to go through the pain that we did.”

He laughed, looking up at her again, “Well thanks for that trip down memory lane, but trust me, I’ve been through plenty of trauma for this class already.”

Then he cast her a small smile, “You’re my savior. Seriously.”

She took a step back, a teasing smile on her face, “Whoa there Blake, careful with that overwhelming gratitude, I don’t think I can take it.”

He smiled, rolling his eyes, “Fuck off, Griffin.”

Her laugh rang out through the room as she returned to her own desk, and he couldn’t help enjoying how it lingered after it faded out.


	2. Tracing patterns (Across a personal map)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we all doing after that finale? Recovering yet? I know I still tear up at the words "if you need forgiveness..."
> 
> Hopefully, this chapter will help mend our hearts a little. The first part didn't turn out quite like I wanted, but I still hope you like it.
> 
> This week’s real life college story: Sitting on a dorm room floor, watching wonderful movies with good company on a tiny laptop screen.

A few weeks later, after they’d both made it through midterms relatively unscathed, Clarke asked if he minded her having her friends over that Friday to watch a movie.

Which maybe sounds strange, but with their rocky start they’d both been hesitant to bring people to the room, for fear of their friends witnessing their less than pleasant interactions.

Bellamy voiced his consent with little resistance.

“Thanks!” She smiled, “Oh! And um, you and O should watch with us…If you want.” Bellamy would have described the invitation as shy if he didn’t already know that there was absolutely nothing timid about Clarke Griffin.

He raised an eyebrow, “You really sure you want to expose your friends to your asshole roommate and his crazy sister?”

She seemed to consider this for a second, then deadpanned, “Oh. Yeah, true. You guys are pretty horrible. Maybe you could, you know, just make yourself scarce that night…?” She grimaced at him in mock pity and he glared in response until she broke into laughter, causing him to crack a smile a second later.

“You said it, not me!” she said defensively, still laughing.

“Yeah, okay, okay. I’ll see if O’s free. What are we watching?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then her brow furrowed and she seemed to think better of it.

“Nope,” she said, ignoring his incredulous expression, “You’re going to have to wait, because you’re _definitely_ going to make fun of me for it, and I don’t think I can handle living with that for three days.”

* * *

Friday rolled around and Jasper and Monty were the first to arrive, aside from Octavia of course, who had already staked out a spot on Clarke’s bed.

The inseparable friends tumbled through the door and any sense of quiet and calm was banished from the room for the night.

“Clarke!” Monty exclaimed, giving her a quick hug, “Nice of you to finally invite us to your place! Do we get to meet your horrible roommate?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Behave, Monty.”

He laughed, “I know, I know, he’s not a _total_ jerk anymore.”

“Aww telling your friends such nice things about me, I’m flattered.”

Clarke nearly jumped at the sound of his voice behind her. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of startling her though, she turned around, jutting a finger at him.

“Yeah well, you should have heard the things I told them at the beginning of the year,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Wait, yeah,” Jasper broke in, his eyes peeking over the door of Clarke’s mini fridge, “We’ve heard the story, but we never found out why you were being such a major asshole.”

Bellamy turned to her, raising a single eyebrow, “I’m noticing a disturbing lack of filter in your friends, Clarke.”

It was true, unfortunately. Bellamy had met Raven earlier that week when she’d come over to study with Clarke and the brunette had immediately bombarded him with threats about how he ‘better not be a creep’. (Her reasoning? “Don’t deny it, Clarke’s hot.” He had turned away before she could see his reaction.)

Regardless of her friends’ tact, or lack thereof, Clarke wasn’t letting him get away that easy.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug, “but don’t think you can avoid the question. You never did explain why you were such a _major asshole_ that day.” She echoed Jasper’s words.

Raven chose that moment to walk through the door, “Oh, are we finally getting the story?”

Bellamy sighed after a moment, exasperated, but eventually opted for the truth, “Look there’s really not much to tell. I was having a bad day.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d just found out that one of my scholarships fell through. Asshole-ness ensued.” The money thing wasn’t really a sore spot for Bellamy. Not anymore. He had come to terms with the hand of cards he’d been dealt, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy talking about it.

His matter-of-fact answer was met with a somewhat awkward silence, because really, what do you say to that? Luckily Clarke had the presence of mind to break it a beat later.

“And now we know!” she said, half-smile on her lips, “Mystery solved. Let’s watch a movie.” And with that, it was done, and her friends proceeded to pile onto her bed.

Bellamy cast her a thankful smile and she returned a small one of her own. As she turned to join the others, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, I never really apologized for that day. I am sorry, you know.” His dark eyes were earnest.

“I know.” Her words were sincere and her face split into a wry smile, “Try to remember that you still feel bad about that when we’re watching the movie.”

Clarke turned to join her friends-leaving Bellamy slightly perplexed-only to find the four of them covering every inch of the bed, leaving Clarke to settle herself on the floor, squeezing between Monty and Raven’s legs. It really wasn’t worth trying to get Jasper and Monty to move, not once they’d found the optimal positions for movie watching comfort.

At least this way she had a better view of the laptop where it was perched on a chair in front of them—not having a TV wasn’t really a big deal until they wanted to do things like this.

Bellamy shook his head at the sprawled young adults, and Clarke almost thought he was going to turn down the invitation after all. After a moment though, he sighed, nudging Octavia’s legs out of the way to sit on the floor, back against the bed, mirroring Clarke’s position on the opposite side. Upon finding a foot in his face, he pushed Jasper’s legs aside as well.

“Are we ready for this?” Monty chirped from above.

“Wait, do I finally get to know what we’re watching?” Bellamy glanced over at Clarke, who promptly dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

“What, Clarke didn’t tell you?” Jasper piped up, “We’re only watching her _favorite_ movie. And, like, the best movie of all time, to be honest.” Monty and Raven nodded in agreement.

Bellamy turned back to Clarke who had removed her hands from her face. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, her gaze steely.

“We’re watching The Princess Bride,” she hardly paused before rushing on, “And I _swear_ if you make _one_ comment…”

But Bellamy was already laughing, “I wouldn’t dream of it _Princess_.”

Clarke knew the battle was lost when even Raven started laughing with him. Still, she insisted he watch the whole thing, upon finding he’d never seen it. The others murmured their agreement and the opening credits rolled.

Five minutes in, Clarke thought she might get through it relatively unscathed, until Bellamy leaned over to nudge her shoulder.

“The princess kind of looks like you, Princess,” he whispered with a grin, nodding to the screen where Buttercup watched in despair as Wesley walked away. ( _S_ _he really did_ , he thought, _all blonde hair and regal posture_.)

Clarke shoved him away, but Bellamy didn’t miss the smile at the corner of her lips.

* * *

“Admit it,” she said when it was over and the others were struggling to rouse themselves from the bed, not aided by their chocolate and popcorn induced sleepiness, “It’s a good movie, even if it’s essentially fodder for you to antagonize me with.”

He surprised her by shrugging, “It _was_  good, actually.” Peering at her through the forest of their friends’ legs, he smiled amusedly, “Leave it to you to choose a movie that sounds like a chick flick but is actually action and comedy.”

Octavia knocked her foot against his shoulder. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with chick flicks,” she mumbled sleepily.

He rolled his eyes and grinned at Clarke before pulling himself up, using the bedpost as leverage.

“C’mon O, let’s get you back to your room.”

“Mmfh,” his sister grumbled, not resisting when Bellamy pulled her up from the bed, but then again, not really helping either.

“You too guys,” Clarke said, nodding to her friends. “Come one, I’ll walk you to the car.”

“Yeah, okay _mom and dad_ ,” Raven drawled, sluggishly tripping off the bed.

* * *

After ushering their friends (or family, in Octavia’s case) off to their respective residences, they met up at the elevator.

Bellamy leaned against the wall as Clarke reached out to press the call button. As they waited, she absently pulled her hair up off her neck, only to let it fall back down past her shoulders a moment later.

Bellamy checked his watch. 2 am, _damn,_ it was late.

“So here we are again, huh?”

He looked up at her to see a teasing smile on her face as she inclined her head toward the elevator.

His eyes turned thoughtful after a moment, “Hey, wait, I was a jerk that day, but you weren’t exactly a ray of sunshine either.” His unspoken question lingered in the air. _What was your excuse?_

A shadow passed across her face but her response was matter-of-fact, “I’d just finally got rid of my mom, that’s all. You know, nagging and all that.” Her expression, gaze dropped to her shoes, made him think there was more to it than that.

“Well,” he said, his words sarcastic, regretting bringing the topic, “I’ll promise not to be an asshole if _you_ don’t run me over with a cart.”

“What—hey!” Her eyes flicked up to him, “I didn’t even hit you!” Her indignation melted into laughter upon seeing the humor dancing in his eyes.

He counted her genuine smile as a victory.

* * *

Bellamy learned about her parents a few weeks later.

It was late on a Wednesday night and Clarke was already asleep. Bellamy, of course, was awake far later than he should have been, trying to work through a history essay. He was actually enjoying it though, which was a nice change from his other school work. _Maybe he should major in history…_

He had his headphones in, volume turned down low, as he worked when he heard a rustling over the music. He turned to see Clarke tossing and turning in her sleep, her brow furrowed in distress, blonde hair a messy halo around her head.

He pulled out his headphones. “Clarke,” he said quietly from across the room.

“Clarke.” A little louder this time.

His attempts at waking her seemed useless as she continued to move restlessly, the v between her brows growing deeper.

“No,” she mumbled, her voice gravelly and sleep-distorted, “No…please, Dad….please…”

Bellamy approached her bed, carefully sitting at the edge, not wanting to startle her.

“Hey, Clarke, wake up. Come on, Princess.” He tried again. But his words only seemed to make her more agitated as she thrashed again. Her voice this time tinged with the beginnings of tears.

“Please…don’t leave me…please!” The strained anguish in her words had Bellamy’s heart squeezing in his chest. He leaned over the shake her shoulder, eyes full of concern.

“Clarke, wake up,” he shook her again, “Wake up.”

With another shake, she finally jerked awake, a cry still on her lips.

“What?” she gasped, her voice still broken as her eyes focused on him, “Bellamy?” Seeming to realize where she was, she sat up, and he let his hand fall from her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” she asked sluggishly, reaching up to wipe a tear from beneath her eye.

“You were having a nightmare,” he responded slowly, keeping his voice neutral. He wasn’t sure how Clarke would react to being woken; They might not hate each other anymore, but they weren’t quite friends yet… _were they_? “Seemed like a pretty bad one.”

Realization passed slowly across her face.

“I thought I’d finally gotten over those,” she said, bringing her palms up to her face, rubbing her eyes as she let out a shaky breath. “God how embarrassing,” she looked up at him, a watery smile on her lips, “Sorry, I’m fine, really.”

But her voice wavered, and the concern remained in his eyes.

“Do you...want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly, trying not to push her too hard. He was coming to the realization that he really didn’t like seeing her like this, hurting, brokenhearted, but he wasn’t sure how to help.

She laughed halfheartedly, “No, it’s okay,” she sniffed.

“Really,” she said when he raised his eyebrows, “I’m sure you have a ton of work to do that doesn’t include comforting your emotional roommate.” Her self-deprecating words were emphasized with an exaggerated eye roll.

He shrugged, “Nah, I was just working on an extra credit essay, I’ve got time.” That wasn’t strictly true. The essay was due the following morning, but Bellamy couldn’t seem to care at the moment.

She flopped back down on the bed, pulling the covers over her head, her words muffled by the blanket.

“What was that Princess?” Bellamy asked, an amused smile on his face.

She pulled the covers down a bit, “I said, ‘You’re such a nerd.’ And don’t call me that.” Her words were playful, but the shadows still lingered in her eyes.

He chuckled, “Come on, tell me.”

She sighed, pulling herself upright again to lean back against the wall.

“Alright, fine,” she said, patting the spot next to her, “but remember that you asked when I start to bore you out of your mind.”

He rolled his eyes, settling down next to her, “Stop stalling Clarke.”

She sniffed again and drew a deep breath, pulling the blanket over her legs before she began.

“Long story short, my dad died. 3 years ago. Cancer.” Her words were short, detached, rehearsed. Bellamy waited.

Realizing he really was going to listen, she went on.

“So um. Yeah. The cancer was at a pretty late stage when they found it, and there was never really any hope,” her hands, which had been worrying with a loose thread from the blanket, went still. “They didn’t tell me.”

When Bellamy looked at her questioningly, she continued.

The evenness in her voice was forced, tinged with emotion. “They didn’t tell me about the diagnosis until a few days before he…” she sniffed again, bracing her shoulders. “My mom said she just wanted to protect me—that she didn’t want me to go through what she was going through.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes angry but full of tears, “Which is really fucking messed up you know?” Her voice shuddered with anguish and she dropped her head again, shoulders shaking slightly.

Bellamy found himself filled with an urge to protect this girl who he knew would never allow it.

But _god_ he wished he could.

He wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders cautiously, trying to comfort her in ways that he couldn’t with words. She surprised him by leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder as she took deep breaths, her silent sobs eventually ebbing.

When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “It wasn’t fair. She had no right to make that decision for me.”

“I know it would have hurt, too, to have known earlier. But I,” she paused, “I’ll never get over the fact that those days were stolen from me. Days I would have used better if I’d known…” Bellamy’s arm tightened around her and he longed to wipe the tears at her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said without removing her head from his shoulder, “I don’t usually get so emotional about it anymore.” Her voice was quiet.

“So, um, that’s why you and your mom don’t really talk?” he tried.

“Mmmh” she turned her face into his chest, and Bellamy got the message. _Don’t talk about mom, got it._

“Tell me about him.”

“Hmm?”

“Your dad. Seems like he was pretty great.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and the spark of brightness in her eyes made him stupidly happy.

“He was. He was an amazing artist," the love and admiration was clear in her voice as she continued to talk about her father, and though he was supposed to be the one comforting her, he found _her_ words somehow comforting. How nice it must have been, to be able to rely on and admire someone so completely.

 "...I wanted to pursue art too, because of him," she said, drawing her recollection to a close.

“But you didn’t.” It wasn’t a question. She’d tell him if she wanted to.

She shrugged, “Practicality, you know?” Bellamy knew that wasn’t it. Clarke tried to rely on her mother as little as possible, but he knew she had the means to be an artist, if she wanted to take advantage of it.

She confirmed his thoughts a second later, shaking her head, “No, that’s a lie. I just—After he died,” she swallowed, “I couldn’t bring myself to sketch anymore. And then here’s my mother, trying to ‘move on’,” her air quotes were sarcastic, “telling me that being a doctor would take my mind off things. I had the grades for it so…”

“So modest.” He teased, nudging her gently with an elbow.

She smiled up at him softly and _his heart did not flutter in his chest,_ _thank you very much._ Then she sighed, letting her head drop back against the wall. Bellamy followed suit.

Moments passed.

“I did start sketching again,” she whispered. When Bellamy turned to look at her, her eyes were shut. “About 3 months ago,” she continued, eyes still closed, “it was nice. I don’t think I could ever pursue it as a career though, not like him.”

Bellamy sighed, leaning back again, letting his eyes fall shut as well, “Of course you could, Clarke.”

He didn’t see her open her eyes. Didn’t see her look at him in amazement and wonder, that this boy, who she swore she hated two months ago, had such confidence in her, such _certainty_. She didn’t say anything, slowly closing her eyes again.

They sat that way for a while, breathing.

“Bellamy…”

“Hmm”

“Thank you, for listening.”

“Maybe you can show me your sketches sometime, since you’re so grateful.”

“Maybe sometime.” Neither saw the smile that ghosted at the other’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Princess Bride is one of my favorites. Go watch it immediately if you haven't already.
> 
> Quick note/question: I have finals this upcoming week, which means life is going to be crazy and I wont be able to write as much as I want to. So my question is this: Would you prefer a short chapter next Sunday, or a normal length chapter the following week (probably the following Wednesday)?
> 
> Leave me your comments/constructive criticism if you have second! (And come cry with me on tumblr if you'd like! www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)


	3. Call me over (Tell me how you got so far)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 3! Sorry this one took a bit longer than usual. My best friend visited this weekend so I didn’t have much time to write. However, said best friend also helped me flesh out the rest of the story, so you can thank her for chapters in the future that will be on-time. Which means a new chapter on or before next Tuesday.
> 
> I know this has just been a bunch of loosely connected one shots so far, but I promise we’ll get a little more story after this chapter. Also! Since I actually know where it’s going now, I think it’s safe to say this is going to be 6 chapters, instead of 5.
> 
> I also I think I kind of got my act together in terms of what perspective I’m writing from in this chapter. Enjoy!

Clarke couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t feel a little weird about that night. She didn’t usually make a habit of spilling her baggage on unsuspecting roommates, particularly not ones she swore she hated two months ago.

Still, he didn’t seem bothered by it, so she decide she wouldn’t be either and when they realized they both had essays due the following week, and he suggested they work on them together at the café after one of her shifts, she agreed. Rather brightly.

She caught a flash of his messy head of hair coming through the door near the end of her shift the following day and smiled as he approached the register where Harper, one of her more sane coworkers, took his order.

“Medium mocha, light on the chocolate,” he said, before lowering his voice to a mock-whisper, “Though you could’ve probably asked _her_ for my order.” He nodded toward Clarke where she stood at the espresso machine. “She’s kind of obsessed with me. It’s a little weird.”

Harper must have come to some kind of understanding because, upon glancing over to see Clarke rolling her eyes, a slight smile on her lips, she just answered, “Well, you still come here, so it must not weird you out too much.”

Clarke found herself amused by, and a little grateful for Harper’s willingness to roll with the punches.

Bellamy laughed at that, “Nah, this is just the only place that makes that drink how I like it. Unavoidable.” He shrugged.

Harper hummed in response, “Your name?”

“Bellamy.” Harper scrawled his name on a cup before passing it to Clarke, who reached over to take it from her, all the while pointedly ignoring Bellamy, suppressing the grin that tugged at her lips.

By the time she’d finished his drink, he was waiting by the sugar and cream bar where he’d apparently taken an interest in the artificial sweetener.

She cleared her throat, placing the cup on the bar, “I’ve got a mocha for…” she feigned concentration, squinting her eyes at his name on the cup, “…Bel-lame-y?” She looked around as if she didn’t know exactly where he was standing, only meeting his eyes when he came forward the claim the drink.

“Cute,” he said, with an expression not quite annoyed enough to convince her that he wasn’t actually amused.

“Enjoy!” she returned brightly, maintaining eye contact with him until he was forced to crack a smile.

She had a small smile on her face for the rest of her shift and it took her a few minutes to realize it was because of her roommate. Her _friend,_ she mentally corrected. And then _holy shit. She was friends with Bellamy Blake._ Which was kind of a stupid thing to be surprised about—she _had_ spilled her guts to him two days ago—but it was kind of nice to admit it to herself. _Friends. Huh._

Half an hour later she finished her shift and unceremoniously dropped her bag next to the corner table Bellamy had claimed, collapsing in the chair across from him.

He glanced up from his laptop, eyebrows raise, “ _Bel-lame-y_? Really?” He was grinning as he reached out to stack the notes that were scattered across the table, making space for her.

Clarke shrugged, “I was in a good mood today.”

He humphed at that, “Good to know that aggravating me is an indication of your happiness.”

She smiled cheekily at him for a moment before her face fell and she dropped her head onto the table.

“What happened to the good mood?”

“Remembered-that-I-gotta-write-an-essay,” came her mumbled reply from underneath a cascade of hair.

He laughed, “Well I feel your pain on that one.”

She sat up, reaching to pull out her laptop, “What’s yours on?”

“Enviro-sci,” he wrinkled his nose. “Yours?”

“Ethics in medical research.” His face scrunched again in sympathy, drawing her attention to the freckles scattered across his nose. It was kind of adorable.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked after a second. _Shit, had she been staring?_

“What? No, sorry, my brain is just fried today.” She sighed, opening her laptop and clicking to an empty word document. “Let’s do this thing.”

He nodded in resigned agreement, eyes returning to his own screen.

Clarke wasn’t exactly distracted as they worked. On the contrary, she was getting quite a lot done. That didn’t change the fact that she found herself looking up every once in a while. And if she happened to take quick glance at the aforementioned freckles when her roommate wasn’t looking, it was only because she was trying to figure out her own reaction. _Adorable?_ Did she really use that word, albeit mentally, to describe Bellamy Blake?

As she glanced over again—only for the second time in half an hour or so, she defended herself—she took a second to examine them from an artistic point of view. She hadn’t tried drawing people in a while, and the way they formed a sort of constellation across his cheekbones…for the first time since her father’s death, she thought she might like to try.

That was until she remembered that this was _Bellamy_ and somehow drawing him was off-limits.

 _Why?_ An inner voice probed. _You’ve drawn your other friends, why not him?_

She immediately waved the thought away. Her essay was more important than overthinking her roommate’s freckles.

An hour or so later they were interrupted by a voice across the café, calling Bellamy’s name.

She watched him glance up at the tall, dark-haired boy approaching their table.

“Miller! How’ve you been?” Bellamy grinned.

“Can’t complain.” The boy shrugged, coming to a top at their table. The small smile he cast Bellamy led Clarke to believe that this friend wasn’t as severe as his demeanor and clipped sentences suggested.

“That’s good. How’s the boyfriend?” Clarke was somewhat surprised by the way Bellamy willingly took control of the conversation. She’d noticed that he was normally more one to listen, respond when prompted, but with Miller…they must have formed an understanding that his friend wasn’t much for talking. It made her smile.

She must have missed part of the conversation, or maybe just a significant look, because Bellamy was looking somber, saying, “That’s rough man.”

Miller shrugged again, “It was a mutual thing.”  He turned to Clarke after that, “Sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Miller.”

Clarke shook his outstretched hand, “Clarke. Bellamy’s roommate. Nice to meet you.”

He smiled and nodded, “You too.”

He turned to look at Bellamy again, as if to say something else, but silence stretched for a moment.

Apparently Bellamy didn’t find the silence as awkward as Clarke did, and just waved a hand distractedly, his face tinged the tiniest bit pink, “Shut up Miller.”

Miller laughed, “Yeah okay. I’ll see you guys later.”

As he made his exit, Clarke looked at Bellamy, brows knit in confusion, “What was that about?”

Bellamy coughed, “Nothing, Miller’s just got a weird sense of humor.”

She scoffed at that. They might get along now but Bellamy was could still be a pain in the ass. She let it go, though; it wasn’t all that different from the weird interactions she and Raven had shared over the years. “He seems like a good guy.”

“He is. He was the first friend I ever made here actually.” He turned back to his notes.

“Really?” Clarke propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her entwined hands.

Bellamy looked up. “Mmm,” he hummed in affirmation, “Don’t we have essays to work on?”

“We…” Clarke paused, checking her watch, “have been working for two and half hours. I think we deserve a break.” She gestured that he continue the story.

“Huh,” he checked his own watch then flashed her a grin, “I guess we do.” He mirrored her position, head resting on hands. “There’s not much to tell though. I met Miller the first day of classes, freshman year. Calculus. Eight AM.”

Clarke cringed appropriately, then giggled, “Friendships born on the battlefield?”

He laughed through his words, “Something like that.”

“Well now I can tell Raven you actually have friends.”

He didn’t miss a beat, clutching his heart in mock offense, “And here I thought you and I were friends Princess.”

His words caught her off guard, and she had a sneaking feeling he knew it too. But she wasn’t letting him have all the fun, “We’re friends as long as you promise not to call me that anymore.” She arched an eyebrow.

He barked a laugh, “Deal.”

She grinned at him so hard it kind of hurt.

* * *

A week or so passed after they’d decided they were friends. Bellamy knew it was ridiculous, and really, somewhat childish that he cared so much about such a tiny incident, but he did. So what? He had more pressing issues than caring about his roommate a little too much.

Particularly at that moment, since he’s just received a text from Octavia that read only “ _at Jaha Hospital, nothing serious.”_ Which was not comforting at all, because, with Octavia, it was _always_ something serious.

So it was safe to say Bellamy was in full freak-out mode because, not only was his sister was in the hospital, but he had no way to get there—owning a car while living on a hardly 2 mile wide campus was never really a priority until now.

He was pacing back and forth across the room quietly. Or at least, he was trying to be quiet. It was after midnight and Clarke was asleep, and this was _his_ problem, and _why the hell_ did the hospital have to be so far from campus? He could walk there, it was true, but who knew how long that would take? He was about five seconds away from pulling his hair out.

He glanced over at his roommate’s sleeping form as he stopped next to her bed. He had no idea what spurred his need to talk to her, but he had to do _something_. That was how he ended up shaking her awake for the second time in less than a month.

It only took a minute for her to be semi-conscious. Her nose scrunched and without opening her eyes, she mumbled, “Bellamy ‘m fine. Not dreaming,” in a sleep-garbled voice before moving to roll over.

“Clarke please, it’s Octavia.” His worried voice must have cut through because she forced her eyes open a moment later. Her eyes filled with worry almost immediately as she took in his face and she sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed.

“What is it?” Her voice was gentle.

“Octavia—she’s…the hospital, I—” He wasn’t forming coherent words so he just shoved his phone toward her, the screen unlocked to his sister’s text.

Clarke’s hand came up to steady the phone as she read. When she looked up at him, her eyes were serious. Calm. She pushed a hand through her sleep-mussed hair.

“You don’t have a car.” It wasn’t really a question. Bellamy nodded silently.

“One second.” She stood up from the bed, leaving him to slump down to the floor.

Not more than twenty seconds later, he heard her voice, quiet but clear, “Mom? I need to borrow your car. It’s an emergency.”

He turned to see her with her phone cradled up to her ear as she shrugged on a jacket with her free hand, her hair tossed up haphazardly.

“Faculty lot, I know…Yes, I have the keys…Mom… _Mom…_ I know, I’ll have it back by morning.” She hesitated a moment, then mumbled a quick “Thank you,” before hanging up.

Her feet, clad in a pair of beat up converse, tripped over to him and she held out her hand, “Come on, let’s go.”

He let her pull him up and toward the door. Somehow, through his anxious fog, his brain allowed him the presence of mind to grab a sweatshirt and spare a quick glance of wonder at this blonde haired savior of his.

* * *

The positive feelings didn’t last long, and two minutes into the drive his leg was bouncing agitatedly, his fingers drumming a sporadic beat on the arm rest.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said from the driver’s seat, “I know you’re worried, but you’re going to make me hit something if you don’t relax.”

“Sorry,” he bit out, wringing his hands in his lap. Octavia wasn’t responding to his texts, or calls. He had no idea what had happened to her and being out of control was _not_ something Bellamy Blake did well.

“Hey,” her voice was softer this time, and she stretched her arm across the console between the seats toward him, palm upward.

With a sigh, he placed his clammy hand in her warm one and felt her squeeze his fingers reassuringly, “She’ll be okay. This is Octavia. She’s strong.”

She _was_ strong. He knew that. It didn’t make this any easier. He focused on keeping his breathing even, on Clarke’s thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. _She’ll be okay_.

* * *

“I’m looking for Octavia Blake. I’m her brother.” Bellamy had his palms firmly planted on the counter in front of the receptionist, leaning forward tensely. He realized he probably looked a little insane, but couldn’t find the time to care.

The receptionist didn’t seem terribly bothered by his predicament, “If you’ll give me just a moment...” She held up a finger and return to the stack of paper’s she’d been sorting through before he had arrived. Bellamy tried not to snap.

“Look, I don’t know what happened to her,” his voice was steadily rising, “So if you could just get—”

Clarke, who had been parking the car, appeared at his side then. She covered his hand with her own and cast him a look that very clearly said _calm down,_ before she turned to the woman behind the desk.

“Hey Maya, sorry about my friend. He’s just worried. Can you tell me where we can find Octavia Blake?”

They must have known each other because the woman, Maya apparently, gave her the room number, 221, with little resistance.

Clarke turned to walk away, gesturing that he follow, but he stopped her, catching her hand as she walked away. She looked at him questioningly.

“I—how did you—do you know her?”

“I work volunteer shifts here on weekends,” she said, small smile on her face, “Come on, let’s go see your sister.” She tugged his hand, pulling him toward a set of double doors. He spared only a second to think, _Thank god for Clarke Griffin._

Finally, he was pushing open the door to room 221 and there was Octavia, her leg heavily bandaged, but otherwise okay.

She looked up as the door opened. “Oh hey,” her words were playful but there was a sheepish smile on her face, “If it isn’t the golden couple.”

Bellamy rushed to her side, leaving Clarke in the doorway. He hugged his sister tightly for a moment, before pulling back to ask, “What the _hell_ happened?”

Clarke moved into the room as they talked and squeezed Octavia’s (good) leg, whispering “I’m glad you’re okay.” The younger girl cast her a small smile and a quick nod, before turning back to her brother. Clarke left the room a few minutes later under the pretense of getting coffee.

When Bellamy finally came to find her in the waiting room, it was a good forty-five minutes later.

“Hey,” Clarke said, looking up at him sleepily as he sat down beside her, “How is she?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumped. “It’s just a deep cut. She’ll live,” he quipped sarcastically, “as long as she finally learns from her mistakes and tries not to be so _damn_ reckless.” He leaned his head back, “Apparently she and some new _friends_ thought it would be a good idea to do some rock climbing in the middle of freaking nowhere,” his tone of voice revealed exactly how he felt about her new acquaintances.

Clarke just nodded along. She was far too tired at this point to offer advice along the lines of _let your sister make her own mistakes._

Bellamy turned to her after a moment, apparently taking in the circles beneath her eyes and the fact that she was still dressed only in her pajamas, except for a jacket and sneakers. “Shit, you’re exhausted, you should go. I can—”

“Bellamy,” she interrupted his earnest, rushed words.

“Yeah?”

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll stay too.”

He covered her hand with his own then, his dark eyes level with her blue ones. “Thank you. I mean, I know you’re not doing this for me but—”

“Hey,” she flipped her hand over to lace her fingers with his, “You’re welcome.” And he was. Maybe Clarke had class tomorrow, and maybe she was exhausted, but she wouldn’t want to be anywhere but at the side of these friends who’d somehow fallen into her life.

He didn’t let go of her hand until she’d finally fallen asleep and he needed to check on Octavia again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me your comments and come hang out with me on tumblr! (goldenheadfreckledheart)


	4. I've got a feeling (If I sing this loud enough)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter carries on right where the last one left off. Apparently l like to write a lot about my favorite idiots sleeping.
> 
> When I started writing this story, I thought it was going to be organized and well planned. And, well…it’s definitely not. But a fair few people seem to like this mess that I’ve written so far and I love you for it. Here’s chapter 4, it’s a monster:
> 
> Everything is good until it all falls to shit. I’m not good at angst but I’ve been planning this for ages so I hope I’ve done it justice.

The next time Clarke opened her eyes, she felt oddly aware for someone running on only 3 hours of sleep. She glanced down at her watch—6am, _damn—_ before turning to look at the very much asleep Bellamy slumped in the waiting room chair next to her: the boy who had been rather adorably worried about his headstrong sister just hours earlier. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, his breathing even.

Clarke smiled and stretched her arms above her head. Sleeping in that chair really hadn’t done her back any favors and she sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the strain in her muscles.

Seconds later, Bellamy’s voice had her nearly jumping out of her skin. She only caught the last of his sleepy words.

“…nice to wake up to…”

She turned to him, dropping her arms. (If her cheeks were tinged pink it was because it was _warm in there alright?)_

“Well if it isn’t the sleeping beauty,” she said. Then, realizing she’d essentially called him _beautiful_ , she rushed on, “Are we ready to head back? I have class at 9. How’s Octavia?”

Bellamy just blinked at her for a moment. “Whoa, that’s a lot for…” He looked at his own watch just as she had just moments earlier, “6 am. Damn.” His hands came up to scrub at his face before he answered her.

“Octavia’s fine. Last time I checked she had a friend coming to pick her up around…” he considered for a moment and then grinned sheepishly at her, “…twenty minutes ago.” Clarke raised an eyebrow and he laughed, “Sorry, guess I overslept. Anyways, she knew we had to return your mom’s car so she figured it would be easier to get a ride from someone else.”

Clarke didn’t mention the fact that he really didn’t need to come with her to return the car, possibly because a tiny part of her was very aware of his use of the word ‘we’. Regardless, Bellamy was still talking.

“Which brings me to another point.” He turned to her, “You…are my savior.” As if that statement wasn’t momentous, or in any way out of the ordinary, he went on, “and yeah, let’s head back, but we should stop for coffee on the way. It’s on me.” He moved to stand up, but Clarke was still a bit stuck on the savior comment.

_What was that? Where did that come from?_

She collected herself after a moment and took his offered hand to stand as well.

“Damn right it’s on you.”

* * *

When they were in the car, warm coffee in cold hands, Bellamy decided to broach the topic he’d been avoiding—not because he didn’t want to talk about it, but more because he thought _she_ might not. He needed to properly thank her though, and this was kind of a big part of that.

“Hey Clarke?” He nearly cringed. _Way to be normal about it._

“Hey Bellamy?”

He laughed shortly, rolled his eyes. “Look, I just wanted to ask if this is going to make things worse between you and your mom,” he waved his hand awkwardly, “The whole car thing, you know.”

When her eyes met his (briefly, that is, she _was_ still driving) they were filled with something unreadable. He rushed to amend his question.

“Look, I know it’s not my business, I just—” _damn, words were not working for him right now,_ “I’m grateful, that’s all, and I would feel bad if something you did for me and O made things…uncomfortable for you.”

“Bell,” she was still looking ahead, but there was a slight smile at the corner of her lips. He relaxed a little, helped along in no small measure by her use of the nickname that he’d previously only heard used by his sister. He wasn’t even sure she had intended to use it, which somehow made him even happier. It was perhaps in that moment that he realized how royally screwed he was.

“It’s fine, I wanted to help. I’m not going to lie and say that it’s going to make things _easier_ with my mom, but with her, things were never going to be easy to begin with. This is just bringing about the inevitable sooner.”

Bellamy hummed in acknowledgement. Not that he necessarily thought she was right, not to mention that it couldn’t be healthy to think about a conversation with your mother as _inevitable_ , but it wasn’t really his place.

* * *

Bellamy came home from class that same day to find a clearly exhausted Clarke sprawled across his bed, the sun from the window making her hair shine gold.

“Couldn’t have crashed in your own bed, huh?” he murmured, reaching out to remove a pencil from her hand so she wouldn’t end up _I don’t know_ stabbing herself in the face or something. Of _course_ Clarke would fall asleep working, but then, he was the reason she’d gotten so little sleep the previous night, so he couldn’t really talk.

He gently lifted her arm to move the notebook she’d managed to collapse on top of. The page it was opened to was filled with a sketch of the view from their window. It spanned the page, capturing all the tiny details of the small courtyard below; the sparse trees, small patch of lawn, crisscrossing walkways. _She was_ _good,_ he thought. Not that he’d imagined she wouldn’t be, but the way her soft lines spanned the page showed just how much she must _love_ this.

He replaced the notebook near her elbow, careful not to wake her. He felt a guilt gnawing at him. She _had_ said she’d show him her drawings sometime, but she would show him when _she_ wanted to. It was a personal thing for her and he’d be the last person to rush it.

With that he returned to his desk…and proceeded to cringe at the sound his laptop made as it booted up. He turned to see Clarke blearily lifting her head from his comforter and nearly smiled as she wiped at the drool on her cheek—which was probably the second time he should have realized how far gone he was.

“Couldn’t have fallen asleep on your own bed, huh?” he asked, repeating his words from earlier.

She looked up at him drowsily, “Mmm.” She paused to rub at her eyes. “Sorry, I was sketching. Lighting was better over here.” She brushed at a wave of hair that’d fallen into her face. “Don’t,” she began again, abruptly, “…ask if you can see it alright? I’m still getting into the swing of things again.”

“’Course not, wouldn’t dream of it.” _Getting into the swing of things…_ He wanted to shake his head at that. He couldn’t though, not without admitting to snooping.

She tossed him a thankful smile before dragging herself off his bed.

* * *

Clarke quickly shoved away the sketch she was working on the next day when Bellamy pushed into the dorm room, dumping his backpack on his desk. His hands were shoved into his hair, making it even more of a mess than usual. She kind of preferred it that way though, if she was being honest with herself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He turned to her, as if he hadn’t noticed she was there, “What? Nothing.” He began unceremoniously pulling his books from the backpack, but turned back to her half a second later.

“It’s Octavia. She failed a class last quarter and I just found out about it now.”

Clarke paused, he was clearly upset but… “Okay, yeah, that sucks. But everyone fails a class freshman year Bellamy, it’s not a huge deal.”

“But why would she keep it from me?” his eyes were beseeching when they met hers. _He really has no idea,_ she thought.

“Bellamy. Relax okay? You’re her older brother. She knows you care about her education. She didn’t want to upset you, probably because she knew you’d act like this,” she gestured at him, giving him a small smile. “Maybe you could tone it down a little?”

The words seemed to hit home and he relaxed a bit, stopping his agitated pacing.

“I just want to make sure she knows how important this is you know?” He sunk down onto his bed. “Getting an education.”

“Of course she knows, Bell,” she said, coming to sit next to him. “How could she not with a brother like you?”

He looked at her questioningly and she smiled teasingly in response.

“You know, workaholic, uptight, overly-serious.” She nudged her shoulder into his. The tiniest of smiles curled at his lips.

“You’re a good brother to her,” she said sincerely, “But she’s gonna make mistakes. You gotta let her.”

He signed heavily, hands in his hair again, “You’re right. It’s just hard.”

“Of course I’m right,” she smirked. “And of course it is, that’s life. Now,” she pushed herself up from the bed with a hand on his shoulder, “I have a crap-ton of homework to get to.”

* * *

So things were good. Sure Bellamy was drowned in second-hand stress from his sister, but his own classes were going well enough: his interest in history was holding longer than any of the other times he’d thought he’d finally found an area of study he might want to pursue.

Clarke seemed happier too. Of course she was still consumed by stress, the track to med school will do that to you, but he noticed her sketching more and more often in her free time. It was a good stress reliever, apparently. She still hadn’t formally shown him her drawings and he kept his mouth shut about his accidental snooping.

Sometimes in the evenings, if they’d both made enough progress on their assignments, they’d camp on one of the beds and watch TV shows—Orphan Black if Clarke got to choose, usually a history documentary if she left it up to Bellamy. She didn’t roll her eyes at his choices…much.

Octavia would join them from time to time but ended up coming over less and less as the quarter wore on. Clarke assumed she was busy. Bellamy on the other hand insisted it was because she was hanging out with those ‘bad influences.’ The same ones who were apparently to blame for her leg injury. Clarke was usually able to talk him out of his disgruntled brotherly moping sessions.

* * *

Until one day she wasn’t. Until one day it wasn’t so good anymore.

Clarke sat on her bed, trying to wrap her head around organic chemistry before finals week, while simultaneously trying _not_ to think about the conversation she’d had with her mother earlier that week.

She’d tried to mend the bridge, she really had. She told her mother that she was dedicated to med school, just like she wanted. That had made Abby happy. Then of course Clarke made the stupid mistake to tell her that she’d also started drawing again.

Abby’s response had been…less than delicate, insisting that Clarke “didn’t have time to spend doodling on napkins if she wanted to be a proper doctor one day.”

Which of course begged the question of her father. And of course Clarke couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“What, so Dad’s job was just a joke? All that time he spent painting meant nothing? _Jesus_ mom, that’s cold, even for you.”

Abby didn’t slap her, but Clarke thought she probably wanted to. So much for mending bridges.

She was roused from her sour memory by the raised voices outside the room. Octavia had been over, but she and Bellamy had stepped into the hall nearly ten minutes before. Clarke had been too absorbed in chemistry to ask for a reason. 

“…my damn life Bell, and no matter how pigheaded you are, I don’t make mistakes just to spite you!” Octavia’s voice was loud, biting.

“Well it sure seems like it. Are you still seeing that fucking tattooed moron, or has he dumped you for his next fling yet?” _Shit_. Clarke pushed herself off the bed. This was really fucking bad. She was wrenching open the door as Octavia screeched in response.

“How _dare_ you! At least he cares about me! Respects me! The same can’t be said for my own damn brother, who’s too childish to even meet his sister’s boyfriend.”

“I don’t need to meet him to know he’s bad for you!”

“Hey!” Clarke pushed herself between the two of them. “Hey. Guys! Calm down alright? This isn’t solving anything.” The siblings mumbled identical protests at her intervention. It might’ve been funny if they weren’t still seething in anger.

“Octavia,” she turned to the younger Blake sibling, “Go home, cool off.” She looked back to Bellamy, “You guys can have this conversation another time, when you’re both thinking straight.”

Octavia just shrugged and turned to go, muttering something about how she wasn't “the one who needs to thinks straight.”

Bellamy just turned and stomped back into the room. Clarke sighed before following him in.

He didn’t say a word to her all night.

All things considered, it could have gone worse.

* * *

Things were relatively normal after that. Neither of them brought up that night.

Eventually though, Clarke couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore, not when the stubborn siblings she cared about so much were tearing themselves apart. It wasn’t her best idea, granted, bringing it up just before they left for winter break.

Her suitcase was packed, standing next to her bed, and her mother would be there to drive her home in just under an hour.

“Bellamy…” she started gently, and he looked up at her from his own packing. “Have you…have you talked to Octavia yet?”

His face hardened. She almost regretted bringing it up. Almost.

“You can’t spend your whole life taking care of her.” She said, gently.

“Like hell I can’t.” He turned away from her pointedly, “Drop it Clarke, it’s not your problem.” His words were meticulously even, more tired than mad, and he braced his hands on his desk, as if suddenly fascinated by the papers scattered across it.

“Look,” she pleaded, “I didn’t mean it like that. I know, she’s your sister, you’ll always be there for her, but god Bellamy, you’re going to have to accept that she’s going to go through rough patches. And she’ll get through it.” Her words are soft, but certain, firm.

When he spoke it was after a moment and though his words weren’t quite demeaning, they _were_  tinged with some combination of exhaustion and stubbornness. “Look, I don’t have time for the preaching tonight, Princess.”

She suppressed her shock.

It had been a while since he’d called her that. It was a name from a time before they’d been friends, a time she didn’t really like so much if she stopped to think about it. It would’ve pissed her off if it wasn’t breaking her heart.

“Fine.” She sniffed, refusing to be affected by his words. She wasn’t angry, a little annoyed maybe; at his use of the nickname, at his refusal to address the problem, “Just brush it off. Ignore anything that you don’t have the answer to.”

Okay, maybe she was more than a little annoyed, “One day it’s going to catch up with you though, and you’re going to have to face the fact that you are _terrified_ of letting Octavia live her own life, because you don’t have _any_ idea what you’re doing with your own.” She watched his mouth fall open in ill-concealed shock. Maybe she didn’t mean it, not all of it anyways, but she couldn’t take it back either.

“What, and you’re better than me?” His eyebrows were knit together, like he couldn’t decide if he was offended or just in some kind of despair. The latter must have won out though because his next words were sharp, “You’re putting yourself through med-school, even though you hate it, because it’s what your mother wants you to do. Even though you’re supposed to resent her! So don’t criticize me about not having a clear plan when you've got some problems of your own.”

“At least I can make up my mind about my damn major. At least I’m doing _something._ ” The loud words fell from her lips like an awful waterfall she couldn’t stop.

He dragged a hand across his face, voice defeated, tired, careless, but still loud, “Yeah well I hate to break it to you, but no amount of med-school is going to bring your father back.”

The sob that caught in her throat hurt more than she imagined it could. She turned blindly to grab her suitcase.

“Shit.”

She wasn’t even sure if she heard him. Tears were welling in her eyes and everything hurt and she just needed to _leave_.

“I didn’t mean that.”

She pulled the door open, pushed her suitcase through.

“Clarke!”

She walked away down the hall, tears on her cheeks, heart sore and burning in her chest.

* * *

Bellamy spent the next hour aggressively pacing the ridiculously tiny room. His hands flying to tug at his hair every few minutes.

What the _hell_ had he done?

How was he _such an idiot_?

He didn’t follow her. He knew she didn’t want him to. He knew _her_ and that made it even worse, because he knew how much he’d hurt her.

_Fuck._

_Shit._

He wanted to punch something. Himself, preferably.

Sure, she’d said some things too, things that hurt like _hell_ if he was being honest. But…bringing up her father? That was off-limits, inexcusable.

He paused his pacing to look down at her desk, as if it could offer him some sage advice on how _not_ be a total douche bag. His eyes, skating across the surface, caught his own name on a folded piece of paper atop a pile of books.

“ _For Bellamy,”_ it said in her handwriting. “ _Have a good winter break!”_

His heart sunk as picked it up.

She must have been planning to give this to him. _Before he fucked it all up._

The paper was thick, cream-colored. He unfolded it slowly. What he saw inside made him want to claw his heart from his chest, or run after her, or maybe just scream at himself. He didn’t do any of those things.

Instead he stared dumbly down at the meticulous sketch of his own face. In her depiction, his mouth was quirked in an ironic grin, hair a mess, as it always was. He couldn’t make a guess as to how long she’d spent on it, couldn’t even begin to count the freckles she’d drawn across his face, couldn’t fathom the details of the eyes—his eyes—complete with crinkles at the corners.

It made him feel sick to his stomach.

* * *

Clarke waited for her mother for nearly two hours, the tears drying on her face after a while.

_Of course she would be late today._

Bellamy hadn’t followed her, not that she wanted him to, not that she’d _expected_ him to. Just for good measure though, she’d walked down to the rec fields, waiting there rather than outside their building.

By the time Abby called, she’d long since fallen back on the damp grass to stare up at the mockingly blue sky.

When her mother asked if something was wrong, she just shrugged it off.

For once, she let her drop the subject.

The drive home was a long one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst for the sake of future fluff, I promise. Also I apologize that this chapter is all over the place, I'll be the first to admit it's not my best work. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr! (www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)


	5. Too much distance (To measure it out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is only, what, 4 weeks late? Sorry about that friends. It's the longest one yet, if that helps.
> 
> Alright so that last one was rough, but I promised fluff in this chapter, and you’ll get it (I don’t lie about fluff). It starts a little slow though, 'cause we've got a bit of fall out to deal with.

There was no two ways about it, Bellamy spent the first half of winter break _wallowing_.

If he wasn’t beating himself up over what a jerk he’d been, then he was masochistically reliving their argument. And if he wasn’t doing either of those, he had his nose in his textbooks for the next quarter—anything to get his mind off Clarke and what he’d done to her.

He didn’t try calling her, or texting. It felt cheap to him and he doubted she wanted to hear from him anyway. There was another reason though, if he was being honest. He may have delivered the fatal blow, but she had made some fairly cutting remarks herself.

Part of him, the prideful part, was still fighting it. _He_ knew what was best for Octavia, and Clarke had no business meddling in that. But there was another small—admittedly growing—part of him that was beginning to think that maybe she was right: that he basically embodied the whole overprotective-big-brother archetype.

His change of heart was probably helped along by the fact that Octavia had refused to say a single word to him on the train ride to their mother’s house, or in the days since then. Aurora might have made them work it out if the holiday season didn’t have her working catering jobs nearly 24/7. He had to have gotten his workaholic nature from somewhere.

More than once, he found himself wishing he could talk to Clarke about it. She would at least have some suggestion about how to mend his relationship with his sister. He actually got as far as opening her name in his contacts one morning before remembering, like a punch in the stomach, that there was no way she wanted anything to do with him.

Not anymore.

He proceeded to ask himself for the millionth time how he’d managed to take the girl who had helped him countless times, without a second thought, and ruined their friendship so thoroughly. Days like those, even mending his screwed up relationship with Octavia seemed possible—at least it wasn’t as far gone as things with Clarke.

So the next day, he thought, _fuck it_ , they were sitting around the same house every day, ignoring each other, he might as well fix it. _My sister, my responsibility._

And he did. He fixed it. He swallowed his goddamn stubborn pride and told Octavia that he was sorry; sorry that he hadn’t trusted her, sorry that he’d said such horrible things about her boyfriend—Lincoln he thought his name was. He even went as far as to offer to meet him, albeit possibly not one hundred percent sincerely.

It was that awkward proposal that finally had his sister cracking a smile, “Don’t strain yourself too much there, big brother.”

Then in a quieter voice, glancing up at him fleetingly, “I’m not slacking on purpose, you know, Bell. I wouldn’t do that, I know how important college is, and I’m doing my best.”

His heart melted at that and any other qualms he had about apologizing vanished, “I know O. I’m sorry I was too stubborn to see that before. I should have had more faith in you.”

“Damn right you should have.” She punched him in the shoulder then, lightening the admittedly solemn mood. Octavia wasn’t really one for long soul-searching talks. He had a sneaking suspicion that she purposely punched him a little harder than necessary, though. The bruise that remained on his upper arm for a week afterwards could attest to that.

So in the end, he was glad that he did it without Clarke’s help. Because this was his sister, who would be important to him regardless of who else came and went from his life, and he _did_ know her, regardless of how stupid he’d been. He was just more ready to accept who she was now.

So no, maybe he didn’t need Clarke to fix his life for him, but he _did_ want her in it. And if he’d learned anything from this shit storm, it was that a sincere apology could go a long way.

* * *

Clarke was angry and hurt and annoyed, but mostly she was just _goddamn tired._ Tired of reliving Bellamy’s cutting words, tired of the endless cycle of awkward silences and angry outbursts with her mother, and just plain tired. 8 am classes hadn’t really lent themselves to a healthy sleep schedule.

To be fair, things with Bellamy were the least of her problems. Yes, he’d been an ass, and yes, it hurt like hell, but having a few days to reflect, she could see that he hadn’t meant it, not really. That certainly didn’t excuse the fact that he’d taken her trust—the raw vulnerability she’d shown him when she told him about her father—and shoved it in her face like it was nothing. She did need an apology for that, but she’d had enough reflection to know that she _would_ forgive him when he apologized, and she had a sneaking suspicion he would.

She knew _him_ and she wasn’t about to throw away whatever it was they had over one heat-of-the-moment argument. (She chose not to think about that “whatever it was” for the time being. She had bigger problems.)

Of course, she needed to apologize too…but that was a concern for another time, because right now, her mother was coming down the stairs and Clarke had made dinner as a peace offering, hoping it would ease the blow. (Who was she kidding though, Abby Griffin didn’t cave for bribes.)

In the end, the conversation following the meal could have gone worse. Abby was appeased with Clarke’s vocalization of her dedication to med school, but not so much so when she added, matter-of-factly, that she wouldn’t be giving up on art. Clarke had pushed through her mother’s disapproving protests, insisting that she’d be pursuing a visual arts minor. And that, _yes_ , it would be a lot of work to fulfill in addition to her pre-med requirements, but that she was fully prepared to take on that challenge. It was important to her.

And it was. She just wasn’t really sure when it became that way. Perhaps when Bellamy had insisted that she could do it. _“Of course you could, Clarke.”_ She wondered if he knew how much those words had meant to her. How much all of his words meant to her, honestly.

Her mother reluctantly agreed to tone down the anti-art mantra, as long as none of Clarke’s pre-med courses suffered from the added art classes.

So somehow, miraculously, the drive back to campus at the end of break was actually a pleasant one. Maybe the conversation wasn’t particularly deep, jumping back and forth between various clichés of small talk, but it was _pleasant_ and that was something to be appreciated.

And then she was back, standing in front of room 237, suddenly nervous about entering her own room. He’d be there already, she knew. Octavia had texted her the day before, mentioning that they were back on campus. She shook her head then and pulled out her key, because although they had things to work through, she’d _missed_ him. And once they put this behind them, they could go back to the way things were; texting each other stupid things they overheard at the café, or the bookstore, criticizing the medical or historical inaccuracy of their friends’ favorite TV shows, working in companionably silence.

With those images in her head, she turned her key in the lock.

Only to find the room empty.

Except it wasn’t just empty of _him_. It was empty of all his things; no sheets on the bed, no books on the desk.

As if he’d moved out.

She went to the closet: empty. Rifled through his half of the drawers: empty. Even the picture he’d tacked above his desk of him and Octavia was gone. Everything was gone. She collapsed onto her own bed.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at Bellamy’s half of the room, empty of all things that had made it his.

* * *

-1 Day Earlier-

Bellamy came back to campus, ready to apologize to Clarke and put this whole thing behind them. Granted, that was a tall order, but sue him, he was optimistic.

That is, he was until he came to a stop in front of their door and read the official-looking paper pinned to it, along with an envelope.

 

“As this room is in violation of gender regulations, resident Bellamy Blake is to move to Mecha Hall, room 771.

A housing administrator will visit your new room in two days time to ensure compliance to this change.”

 

Inside the envelope was a key, apparently to the aforementioned room, and a slip of paper that read: “Roommate: John Murphy.”

_What the hell?_

He pulled out his key to his _current_ room, turned it in the lock, and entered.

Empty. No justifiably angry blonde in sight. She wasn’t back yet.

 _Justifiably angry…shit._ The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The paper on the door, the new room key, the fact that she had every reason to hate him…Clarke.

She had reported their roommate situation to housing.

He didn’t really have any coherent thoughts. Just-- _Shit._

True, housing didn’t really look into these things, but her mother had that kind of sway if she wanted to use it. Which meant that Clarke was more hurt by this than he thought. That she wasn’t even willing to hear his apology…or maybe she didn’t even think he _would_ apologize. That stung more than a little. Did she really think so lowly of him?

He had given her a reason to though, hadn't he?

He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t.

He’d caused this.

Fine, he thought finally. He could at least do this. He could at least accept that she didn’t want to see him. Disappear. He could do that. If she wouldn’t let him apologize, he could do that.

Running a hand one last time through his already disheveled hair, he turned to his side of the room, pulled the sheets from the bed, and began packing.

When he was finally leaving, he closed the door to their room— _her_ room now—and paused briefly to pull the paper from the door.

* * *

-Back to Present-

It took her a while to stop being upset with herself. Upset because she was so upset. He was just her roommate, and, sure, they were friends too, but it wasn’t like they were…in any kind of relationship. She shook her head at the thought.

People have their differences, they reach breaking points. She was going to have to accept that he’d reached his before he thought he would. The petty part of her wanted to say that really, if anyone had the right to move out without a word, it was her. Instead she just lamented over how wrong she’d been about him.

They weren’t anything, not really, but somehow, losing him felt like they were.

Raven only let her wallow for five days before deciding that Clarke needed a new roommate.

She showed up at her door Saturday afternoon, bags in hand.

“Raven…what are you doing?” Clarke asked as the brunette brushed past her into the room, dumping her bags onto his…—onto the _other_ bed.

“Moving in.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “So what, you went to housing and said, ‘Excuse me, I need to move in with my best friend so I can annoy her even _more_ constantly’?”

“Nope.” Raven quipped, “I called your mom. She took care of it.”

“What—my _mom?_ Rae, what the hell?”

“Calm down, I didn’t tell her anything,” she shrugged her backpack off, dropping it on the desk, “Not that there’s anything to tell, really,” she cast Clarke a loaded look, “I just said your other roommate left, and I, ever the perfect friend, didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Are you gonna leave if I ask you to?”

“Nope.”

Clarke huffed, turning away from her aggravatingly stubborn best friend. Part of her was happy to have her there, but the other part just wanted to wallow, maybe burry her unjustifiable emotions in school work. That would probably make her mother happy.

Raven, noticeably, was not like her mother. Which was why Clarke couldn’t say she was surprised when her friend piped up again after a few minutes.

“Look, Clarke,” Raven said quietly, still pulling clothes out of her suitcase, “I don’t know what happened with you two. And that’s fine, it’s not my business. But I can’t help but feel like this is one of those times when talking about it will help.”

Clarke looked up at her tiredly, tearing her eyes from the book she wasn’t actually reading. After a long silence, she sighed, “Finish unpacking. And then order pizza, I’m not doing soul searching on empty stomach.”

Raven grinned widely at her, “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

Bellamy’s new roommate was a bit of an asshole; constantly blasting loud music, some kind of alcohol always on his breath. He would have characterized him as a typical frat guy except that it seemed like he didn’t have any friends.

The room change had been uneventful. He had moved his things in and introduced himself to John Murphy, whose defining features could be encompassed in the fact that he was a privileged white kid who looked like he hadn’t showered in a week.

He didn’t seem to care whether Bellamy was in the room or not, and honestly, Bellamy didn’t care either. So in that respect, the situation was ideal. They only really talked when Murphy wanted a wingman for whatever party he was crashing that night, trying to entice Bellamy with the prospect of girls and booze.

It was kind of impressive how many parties he went to, actually.

Regardless, Bellamy always declined. A week in, he’d probably repeated the phrase, “parties aren’t really my thing” at least eight times. (Probably about the same number of times he’d reasoned that the girl he wanted to see wouldn’t be at those parties, so what was the point?)

In other words, most days John Murphy played the edge of unbearable. Things were fine as long as Bellamy didn’t have to yell at him for coming in late in a drunken stupor, usually knocking things over in the process.

Apparently though, his yelling wasn’t much of a deterrent, seeing as Murphy was currently slamming the door behind him, nearly losing his balance as he did so. After a couple minutes of drunken stumbling he finally managed to collapse on his bed, albeit on top of the covers and still dressed, mumbling something about ‘things always going wrong.’

“One roommate kicks me out and my new one is a drunk. Great,” Bellamy said under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“You moved here because your roommate kicked you out?” came Murphy’s alcohol garbled voice.

 _Damn, good hearing for a drunk kid_.

“Even I haven’t done anything bad enough to get kicked out,” he murmured, rolling over to face Bellamy, his head lolling off the side of the bed.

Bellamy just rolled his eyes again, turned back to his reading, “Yeah well there’s gotta be some reason you didn’t have a roommate before me.”

“What, Sterling?” Murphy drawled, waving a clumsy hand in the air, “I dunno, he just left. Somethin’ about our ‘study environment needs being different’. But don't think I’m letting you off that easy,” with some effort, he flopped over onto his stomach, “How’d you get kicked out?”

“Brought up her dead father,” Bellamy grumbled out, turning the page with a little more force than was necessary.

“Sheesh, dead parent, that’s low man.” Murphy lifted his head from the bed, pausing for a second, “Wait…did you say _her?”_

Bellamy just sent him a withering look. He wasn’t going to spill all of it to this douche bag. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said so much already.

“Shiiiit man. Got roomed with a girl and managed to get yourself kicked out,” Murphy started, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Didn’t think that one through didja? Wait, do you like, play for the other team? Cause let me tell you, if it were me, I’d be working on that, if you know what I mean.”

Moments later, the book that had been in Bellamy’s hands hit Murphy’s head with a satisfying _thunk._

That was the last of their conversations on that topic.

Octavia stopped by the new room from time to time, either to stop and chat or to drag him out for coffee. She wasn’t around as often as she was when he lived with Clarke, probably because she was spending most of her time with her boyfriend, who, much to his chagrin, sounded like a pretty good guy. Not that he could say for sure, he still hadn’t met him.

When she did drop by, it was to scold him for not getting out more. She even teamed up with Murphy once, to no avail, in the hopes of getting him to spend his night at a frat party rather than studying.

"I'm not wallowing, O," he told her time after time. "School just happens to be more important to me than going out all the time."

“Or, you know, ever,” was Octavia’s constant response.

* * *

Clarke hadn’t heard from Octavia besides that text the first day of the quarter. So she was somewhat surprised to see her at the end of her hallway when she returned from class one day, pounding at her door.

“Octavia?”

The brunette’s head whipped to face her from across the hall. “Oh. Good. I thought maybe you were inside and just ignoring me.” Clarke disregarded the twist in her stomach, triggered by the girl’s dark brown eyes. So similar to her sibling’s.

“Pretty sure that’s impossible, O,” Clarke returned, slipping her key into the lock. She kept her face carefully neutral. She was glad to see Octavia, of course, but there had to be a reason she hadn’t come by before now.

“Damn straight,” Octavia grinned at her, following her inside. Her face fell after a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked, dropping her bag next to her bed.

Octavia just stared at her, long seconds passing as she seemed to struggle with some internal conflict. Finally she spoke, eyes hardened in determination.

“Look, I was going to stay out of it, really, I was,” she started abruptly, “but my brother is a mess, and maybe he was a douche to you, but was it really that bad? Really worth kicking him out?” By the end of the question, her voice had raised in pitch and volume.

Clarke just stood there, mouth hanging open a little.

“It’s clear he regrets whatever it was he said. So could you just,” she waved a hand, “I don’t know, cut him a little slack?” Her flippancy didn’t completely disguise the blame, and maybe even anger, hidden underneath.

Clarke continued staring. After a second she dropped down onto the bed.

“I…didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t kick him out.” She shook her head, “O, he left.” _He left._ It still stung, as much as she told herself it shouldn’t.

A rustling at the door meant that Raven was back, shouldering her way inside.

“Hey Clarke, you feeling Chinese tonight?—Oh,” she said, noticing the other girl, but remaining oblivious to the uncomfortable chill in the air, “Octavia, right? What’s up?”

“Not much,” Octavia’s voice dripped with dark sarcasm, “just trying to understand why my brother left, ‘cause Clarke here claims she didn’t kick him out.”

“She didn’t though,” Raven responded hesitantly, her eyes skipping between the two. “He left. Without a word as far as I know.” Clarke nodded in agreement.

“No,” Octavia’s eyes were narrowed, but there was hesitation in them, “He saw the housing paper on the door telling him to move out, and he left, because that’s the kind of guy he is. Figured you didn’t want to see his face again so he just left quietly. I think we all know your mom has that kind of power.”

“Octavia…” Clarke tried not to be too offended. “I never saw any paper…” she offered hesitantly, “And I didn’t ask anyone to kick him out, or report our situation, if that what’s you’re thinking.”

“Oh.”

Octavia and Clarke broke their gaze to turn to Raven, whose arm was thrown across her eyes. “...Oh shit. Jasper.”

“What are you talking about?”

She removed her arm slowly, “There’s this girl who words at the front desk, Maya, who Jasper’s been drooling over for ages. You guys must have met her, right?”

She directed that at Clarke, who nodded eyebrows knit together, “Raven…what’s this about?”

“The week before winter break I went down there to ‘wingman’” she put air-quotes around the word, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, “for him, because he couldn’t get Monty to go.”

When she noticed Octavia and Clarke wore identical skeptical expressions, she went on, “Don’t ask, alright? He’s persistent when he wants to be. Anyway, we’re at the desk, and Jasper’s being _Jasper_ , trying to say something smooth. So he starts asking her about what kind of weird complaints she gets from residents. And then the genius opens his mouth and goes ‘Oh! Did you ever get complaints about Bellamy and Clarke?’ and then something about how you guys used to have shouting matches all the time.”

Clarke visibly recoiled at that. The only thing worse than Bellamy leaving was remembering a time when he hated her.

Raven cast her an apologetic smile. “Maya seemed a little surprised, like she knew you guys but didn’t know you were roommates. I didn’t really think much of it at the time, but it would probably be her job to report that sort of thing, right?”

It was Octavia’s turn to be speechless then. “Shit…” she whispered after a moment, “What an idiot.”

“Bellamy, I mean,” she rushed to correct herself, “not Maya—well, maybe.”

Raven grinned.

Clarke was still in a bit of a state of shock.

Bellamy didn’t leave by choice.

Which meant maybe he didn’t hate her. Just as quickly though, another thought shattered her growing relief: He thought she’d kicked him out. He probably _did_ despise her now. _Shit._

She noticed after a moment that Octavia was speaking to her.

“This is good, right? You can fix this, you can talk to him! Snap out of this funk he’s been in.”

Clarke resisted the petty urge to ask, _Because of me?_

“O, I don’t know. He probably wants nothing to do with me. He thinks I kicked him out, remember?” she said, voicing her fears.

“So explain it to him! You guys are like, champions of recovering from miscommunication right?” The meaningful look in Raven’s eyes told Clarke she agreed.

So she smiled tentatively, letting just a little of the relief slip back in. “Yeah. Maybe we are.”

_Maybe._

* * *

She stood in front of his door in an unfamiliar hallway, fist poised to knock. There was no one else in the hall, which was probably a blessing. This had the potential to be very, very awkward. It had taken her the majority of the two days since her conversation with Octavia to convince herself this was the right choice.

Maybe Octavia was right, maybe he didn’t move out by choice. Then again, maybe she was wrong and Bellamy really never wanted to see her face again. _Just a misunderstanding, right?_

She dropped her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist in front of her. She looked down at her spread fingers, as if they could offer her some way out of this whole mess.

This was important. _He_ was important. Important to her. So, finally, she squared her shoulders, mentally berated herself for being so nervous, lifted her arm, and knocked.

And waited. Her heart was beating embarrassingly fast.

_It’s just Bellamy…Who possibly hates you. Which might actually break your heart._

She nearly laughed. Who would have thought that she’d be so worked up about whether or not the pretentious douche-bag she met the first day of school hated her or not?

Then the door opened she was face to face with her former roommate, her _friend_ , for the first time in weeks, drinking in his messy hair and freckles—she’d missed those more than she’d like to admit—noting the dark circles that hung beneath his eyes.

He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and he looked…surprised. His mouth hung open a bit as he stared at her.

 _Well, surprised isn’t as bad as angry,_ she thought. That didn’t change the fact that, when she spoke, her words were tense, awkward.

“Look, I—” her hand came up to nervously push her hair behind her shoulder, “I know you probably don’t want to see me, so I’ll make this quick.”

Noticing no difference in his surprised expression, she breathed deeply, then pushed on, “I just thought you should know that I’m not the one who reported it to housing. I know I said some things, but,” she looked up at him then, meeting his dark eyes, “I wouldn’t do that…not to you.” Her last three words trailed off and she doubted he heard them. She dropped her eyes from his, bringing one hand up to grasp the opposite arm.

Silence stretched for nearly a minute—at least it felt that long—until he finally spoke.

“Clarke…” his voice was rasped, filled with…something. She looked up at him as he rushed on, “Jesus, I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am.” His words fell from his lips, like something rehearsed but never expected to be spoken, “I know it doesn’t change anything, but,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I never should have said those things about your father. It was…unforgiveable.”

Clarke tried to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. This didn’t mean he wasn’t still angry with her. She stood rigidly still.

“So…so you didn’t move out by choice then?”

He shook his head swiftly, a look of dazed confusion on his face and surprise in his deep voice, “No! I…came back to this paper on the door, telling me to move out. I thought it was you, I mean, you’d be justified in that, but…”

It was her turn to shake her head now. Words were sticking in her throat and she just stared at him for a moment, her eyes trained on his earnest ones, an unexpected feeling of relief sweeping over her. Before she even registered moving, her arms were thrown around his neck, a strained laugh escaping from her lips.

“I knew you didn’t mean it, not really,” the words tumbled out, her face pressed into his shoulder, “but then you were gone when I came back, and I know I was out of line about Octavia.” She rambled on, her words mumbled into his neck.

Maybe she should have let go, but her dizzy relief didn’t leave much room for reason.

Apparently she didn’t need to worry though, because seconds later she felt him exhale, the breath fluttering the hair on top of her head, as his arms came to encircle her waist, pulling her closer.

And everything was Bellamy, and warm, and _right_. And she couldn’t imagine anything better.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again into her hair.

She pulled back from him slightly so she could see his face, small smile on her lips, “I know. But, Bell, I probably forgave you halfway through winter break.” She pulled her eyes from his then, a flush at her cheeks, “I’m sorry too, for the record,” she said quietly.

He pulled her back to him then, laughing lightly into her hair and she relished in his warmth, her arms tightening their embrace.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he pressed his head to the crook of her shoulder and neck, “You were right.”

They stood that way for long seconds, his thumbs drawing slow circles on her back.

Then someone inside the room was letting out a loud wolf-whistle, startling them both, “Well what do you know, Bellamy _does_ like girls!”

Bellamy cast a glare into the room at the owner of the voice, who Clarke still couldn’t see, “Shut the hell up, Murphy.” Keeping one arm around her waist, he closed the door, moving them into the hallway.

She smiled up at him after a moment, inclining her head as she pulled his arm from her waist to take hold of his hand. She sat down against the wall, and he followed, his hand still twined with hers.

“So,” she said, smile still on her lips, “hi.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “Hey.”

“I missed you,” he said after a moment, his eyes, dark and sincere, making her breath catch in her throat.

She forced herself to breathe normally. “You’re so sentimental Blake,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against his. Then her voice grew quiet, but warm, “I missed you too.”

“Even when you thought I was a douche-bag who left without a word?”

“Yeah, even then.” She let her head fall onto his shoulder.

There were words to be spoken and stories to be shared, but in that moment she was content just to sit there, comforted by his warmth at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one! Will they or won't they? (Hint: They will.) If you should know anything about me it's that you should expect all of the fluff.
> 
> Leave me your comments/critiques and come hang out with me on tumblr! (www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)


	6. No one is as lucky as us (We're not at the end but we've already won)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka the one where Bellamy decides he’s done being secretive about his feelings and just blinds Clarke with smiles 24/7 + ALL THE CHEEK KISSES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful for taking so long, but here it is! The last chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

“I told my mom that I’m doing an art minor.”

They’d been sitting in the admittedly less than clean dorm hallway for nearly an hour, slowly catching each other up on their lives—often with comfortable silences stretching between bouts of conversation. Clarke was sure she’d memorized the swirling pattern on the carpet: She’d traced it over and over with her finger before realizing the hallway probably hadn’t been properly vacuumed in years.

Bellamy laughed quietly. A carefree thing that made her heart lift a little.

“You did,” he said. It was more of an impressed statement than a question. Then after short pause—

“Wait, you did?” He shook his head, “I mean, you are? Clarke that’s great!”

He positively beamed and she decided she needed to do things that pleasantly surprised him more often, because that wasn’t a sight she ever wanted to forget.

“How’d she take it?”

She shrugged, a difficult feat, considering her head was rested on his shoulder.

“As well as she could have, I guess.” She pushed herself upright, “I placated her with reiterating my dedication to med-school.” Turning to meet his eyes, she said, “I know you didn’t mean it, but what you said that day got me thinking. About what I _really_ want to do. And this is it. I _do_ want to be a doctor…and I think I’ll be great at it.”

She saw a hint of residual guilt in his eyes, but it was dwarfed by shining pride that warmed her to her toes.

“Good. You will be,” he said quietly. Then, “I’m going to do history.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to major in history. Greek and Roman probably. I think I want to be a professor.”

Clarke smiled up at him, warm and soft, “You’ll be great at it, Bell.”

“Yeah, well don’t stroke my ego too much. O always says it’s too big already.”

She made a face at him, then grinned wolfishly, “Fine. Your students will never respect you. They’ll be too busy making fun of what a colossal nerd lord you are.”

“Ouch,” he feigned pain, hand going to his chest.

“You asked for it,” she sing-songed, glancing distractedly at her watch, “Shit! Is it midnight already?”

“What, you got a curfew?”

“No but I’ve got an 8 am that I’d like to be awake for.”

“Yeah alright,” he said as she pushed off the wall to stand. He followed suit.

She tossed her arms around him when he wasn’t quite upright, causing him to stumble a bit. He regained his balance as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“G’night,” she mumbled tiredly into his shoulder.

“Night Clarke.” His voice was tired too, but also soft, almost reverent. It sent shivers down her spine.

She pulled back from him, slipping her bag onto her shoulder, casting him a smile as she turned to go.

“Wait,” he started, “Do you want to hang out tomorrow? I know…we never really had to plan things when we lived together,” he raised an arm to scratch at the back of his neck, “but now we don’t, so I thought maybe if you wanted to…I don’t know…”

“Bellamy,” she piped up, cutting off his rambling, “I work at the café ‘til five tomorrow. You could meet me and we could pick up greasy Chinese food and then crash in my room,” she grinned up at him, “watch a movie or something?”

Her heart was _not_ beating faster. She wasn’t asking him out. They were friends; getting food and catching up. Obviously.

His returning smile didn’t really help keep her mind from fantasizing. “Sounds great.”

“Awesome. See you then Blake.” On a crazy impulse, she leaned up, pressing her lips briefly against his cheek.

When she pulled back, his brow was furrowed.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…I was gonna say something snappy back. You know like, ‘Don’t be late, Griffin’ but then I realized you’d already be there, so that doesn’t make sense.”

She barked out a laugh, turning to go, “Step up your game, Bell.”

“I’m working on it. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” she called back over her shoulder, taking in his grin as he turned back toward his room. And _God,_ she’d missed that smile.

It was becoming more and more obvious that she was very, very screwed. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.

* * *

It was surreal, having Bellamy back in her life.

Things were back to the way they were before the fight, yet somehow completely different. They weren’t living together anymore, but if anything, that seemed to have made them closer. Before, they never had to plan things, just ‘want to watch a movie?’ or ‘should we order food?’

But this, this was _choosing_ to hang out, get dinner, watch a movie together. This was purposely deciding that they wanted to spend time together. It was different and strange, and she didn’t mind in the slightest.

He walked through the café door half an hour before her shift ended while she was working the register. She smiled when he caught her eye.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, rapping his knuckles against counter.

“Super original,” she deadpanned, “I thought you were working on snappy phrases.”

“It’s been like a day, give me a break.”

“Whatever,” she waved it off, grinning, “I don’t know why you’re even at the register, it’s not like I don’t know what you want. Go get some work done or something.” She motioned him toward one of the small tables.

As she got to work on the queue of drinks that needed brewing, Harper appeared at her side. Clarke cast her a grateful smile. It was always a relief when the other girl was working: They were friendly toward each other and didn’t have to worry about setting up schedules of who worked which position when. If there was a long line, Clarke would join her at the registers. If there were too many drinks to be made, like now, Harper would spend a few minutes lending a hand.

“You two are really cute,” Harper piped up as she frothed milk for a latte.

“Hmm?”

“You and your boyfriend,” she said, nodding toward where Bellamy was hunched over a history textbook. _Nerd_ , Clarke thought fondly.

“It’s cute that he comes to visit while you work,” Harper went on, a wistful tone in her voice. By then Clarke’s brain had caught up with her ears.

“Wait, what?” she sputtered, nearly knocking over a bottle of caramel syrup, “Me and Bellamy…,” her words faltered, “We’re just…friends.” She finished the sentence with an air of certainty she wasn’t sure even she believed.

“Oh, okay,” was all Harper said in response.

“Not that I wouldn’t consider…that,” Clarke went on, awkwardly, “It’s just that we just got back to being friends again and it’s…it’s not worth risking it. You know?”

“Mmhmm. Whatever you say.” the brunette said, teasing smile on her face as she bumped her shoulder against Clarke’s.

Clarke groaned, tossing the arm that wasn’t holding a cup of scalding coffee across her eyes, “Come on Harper. Here I was just thinking that you were my favorite person to work with.”

Her co-worker’s only response was a bright grin and a pat on the shoulder.

When her shift was finally over, she slid into the chair opposite Bellamy, passing his drink across to him while she sipped at hers, trying not-so-fruitfully to keep herself from overthinking Harper’s insinuations.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the drink with a half-grin, “but I ordered this like thirty minutes ago. Pretty inefficient service Griffin.”

“First off, you didn’t even order,” she rolled her eyes, “Second, you’re getting it for free, so it seemed logical to make drinks for, you know, _paying_ customers before friends.” Because that’s what they were. Friends. Nothing more.

The more he grinned at her like _that_ though _,_ the harder it was for her to keep up the charade.

“All I’m hearing are excuses.”

“Shut up. And come on,” she said, pushing back from the table, “let’s get out of here, I’m starving and I haven’t seen The Fifth Element in ages. I need my Leeloo fix.”

“Way ahead of you,” he said, standing up, lifting his book bag to his shoulder, “I called in our order. It should be ready by the time we get there. And before you ask,” he added as she opened her mouth to speak, “Yes, I ordered sweet and sour chicken.”

She smiled widely, “I might just keep you, Bellamy Blake.”

“Yeah thanks for that,” he said and she wondered if she was imagining the slight tinge across his cheekbones. “C’mon, we’ve got futuristic taxi drivers to watch.”

She laughed as they left the café, pointedly ignoring Harper’s wink from behind the counter.

* * *

The next day, after a particularly rough round of classes, Clarke found herself standing outside Bellamy’s door rather than her own. She wasn’t really sure why.

That wasn’t true. She did know.

She wanted to see him, but that was hard to admit without dismantling the already perilously thin veil of ‘we’re-just-friends-and-I’m-not-interested’ that she’d been swathing herself in for the last few days…or weeks maybe.

She was allowed to want to see her friend, right? She’d shown up at Raven’s door unannounced more times than she could count, what made this any different?

And even though she didn’t have the answer, it didn’t change the fact that it _was_ different _._ Still, she’d been standing in the hall for minutes now and someone was walking her way, so she raised her fist and knocked, weirdness be damned.

The door opened too few seconds later for her to properly compose herself.

“Hey,” she said, going for breezy and landing somewhere between strained and overly-happy.

If he was surprised she was there, he didn’t show it, just grinned— _damn_ , how was that _fair_ —and shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” he tossed back, “Good timing, I was gonna tear my hair out if stared at that essay for another minute.”

She giggled. _Giggled._ Like she hadn’t just been freaking herself out about the state of their friendship. “Well you’re welcome then. What’s it on?” she asked, shooting him a questioning look followed by a pointed glance toward where her arm was poised to drop her bag on his bed.

He nodded, and she made herself at home there, slipping off her shoes and pulling her legs up underneath her as he wasted no time in delving into the contents of his history paper—which really must not have been as bad as he said, because he seemed to be enjoying explaining it her in great depth.

His face lit up as he spoke, boyish excitement in his eyes as he gestured with his hands, and all of a sudden she was just very, very happy to know this person, a contented smile forming on her face of its own volition.

She slid her sketchpad out of her bag without really thinking about it, continuing to nod along to his words as her gaze flicked back and forth between him and the paper, her pencil hardly leaving the page for the duration of his explanation.

“So yeah,” he said, shrugging as he finished, leaning back in the chair, “That’s what I’ve been killing myself over for the last few hours.”

“And yet,” she teased, “you decided to spend a good twenty minutes explaining it all to me.”

Not that she minded. At all.

“Yeah, but it’s you,” he said, grinning like the words coming out of his mouth weren’t making her heart beat faster, “Talking to you about this stuff is easy. It’s not work when I’m explaining it to you, you know?”

 “Yeah,” she said, meaning it, “I think I do.” She met his smile with a soft one of her own. Then proceeded the blush probably the deepest red that anyone has blushed _ever._

“You mind if I stick around and work on homework for a while?” she asked, flipping her sketchbook closed, playing a hunch that he wouldn’t question the red flooding her face if she didn’t make a deal out of it.

She was right. Which made her like him even more. She didn’t know that was possible at this point.

“’Course not. I’ve got work at 6 so I’ll have to kick you out, but until then, talking that through with you reminded me of a point I need to add,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair as he turned back to his laptop.

She laughed, “I’m good for you.”

“Yeah, you probably are.” He was still focused on the word document on his screen, but she didn’t miss the meaning in his voice.

And she couldn’t help thinking that maybe they were both playing the same dangerous line, just hoping that the other would tip first.

“Here,” she said two hours later when she was leaving, dropping the sketch onto his desk, like she didn’t really care what he thought of it. Which was, of course, ridiculous, “You said you wanted to see my drawings so...” She shrugged.

He glanced down of it for a span of time much shorter than she expected, before beaming up at her, eyes sparkling mischievously as he surged up to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks Clarke,” he said, nonchalant.

Flustered, she snapped her mouth shut and nodded brusquely.

* * *

 

Not ten minutes after he returned from his shift at the campus bookstore, a knock sounded at Bellamy’s door. He got up to answer it, disgruntled at being disturbed when all he wanted to do was finish homework and sleep.

His irritation faded when he saw it was Clarke, hair piled on top her head and a pillow trailing from her fingertips on the hallway floor.

He thought back fleetingly to the time they’d spent in that hall just days earlier. Particularly to the way she’d kissed his cheek.

He’d managed to play it off—barely—as if he wasn’t effected by her mere proximity. This girl who’d tumbled into his life, and stuck with him even when he thought he’d lost her. So when she’d kissed his cheek it was everything he could do not to kiss her right there.

But they’d just finally fixed their mess, and he wasn’t eager to start a new one if it meant being estranged from her again.

Still, he hadn’t been able to resist returning the favor when she finally, properly let him see her art. He hadn’t needed to look at it too long, he knew it would be beautiful as he watched her hand fly across the page. He took the fact that she trusted him to see her art again as proof of their mended friendship, and it made him want to kiss her all over again, so he’d settled for her cheek.

And here she was in his hallway, hair disheveled and looking exhausted and still somehow she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he said when he opened the door, concern in his voice, because there couldn’t be any good reason she was at his door so late, “What’s wrong?”

“Hey,” she responded sleepily, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, “Sorry, I know it’s kind of crazy late. But Raven and Wick,” she paused, considered, “you know him right? We met him last week at that party?”

Bellamy nodded. He remembered. Raven had dragged them all out, insisting there was a party she wanted to check out. Clarke had informed him later it was because she wanted to see this guy, Wick, but didn’t want to seem like she was going _just_ to see him. They’d teased Raven mercilessly after that, and she’d flipped them off too many times to count.

He grinned. It was a good memory.

“Anyway, he came over to the room and Raven bored her eyes into my skull ‘til I left—which is kind of presumptuous considering it was _my_ room first...”

Bellamy cut her off with a laugh, “Only you would use the word ‘presumptuous’ to describe getting sexiled.”

She laughed too, “Shut up. Anyway, can I crash here? I know it’s kind of a lot to ask…” She trailed off.

Bellamy just opened the door wider, smiling ( _Like he was going to say no?_ Besides, Murphy was staying with friends.) _,_ “I’m kind of offended you even have to ask, Griffin.”

Clarke rolled her eyes a little but smiled as she came in, “Thanks Bellamy, really.”

“Really,” he echoed teasingly, “you’re more than welcome.” He didn’t say just how welcome she was: that she could probably just sit in his room 24/7 and he’d never be tired of her. That seemed like a bit much.

Instead, he just said, “Go ahead and take the bed,” and before she could argue: “Don’t try to tell me you’re not exhausted, ‘cause the bags under your eyes say otherwise. Plus I still have work to finish up.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but seemed to think better of it.

“Okay fine,” she huffed. “But only because it’s not polite to tell a girl that she looks like crap,” she said, tossing her pillow onto his bed.

He scoffed…and then kind of just decided to go for it, “I didn’t say you weren’t still beautiful, just that you look tired.”

If she stiffened, it was only slightly, and then she was grinning at him again, “Yeah okay charmer, get to work. I’m going to sleep, you win.”

At least she knew he thought she was beautiful, he thought. That was something.

His musing was cut off by her lips against his cheek, and _wasn’t she just all the way across the room?_

“’night Bell,” she said sleepily, a tiny smile at her lips as she padded over to the bed.

Whether or not she knew what she was doing to him, he couldn’t be bothered to care, “’night Clarke.”

It was two hours later when Bellamy finally shut off his laptop, tugged his pillow from the end of the bed, spared a glance at Clarke’s sleeping form, and curled up on the floor with the extra blanket Octavia had insisted he’d need eventually.

He’d been half-asleep for what felt like hours when a sleepy voice and a hand on his arm roused him.

“…idiot. Bell come on…I’m not hogging the entire bed,” she tugged on his arm, “and you don’t need back problems.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she didn’t let him get that far.

“I know more about…” he cracked an eye open to see her gesture vaguely with her free hand, her eyes still sleep-heavy, “… _this_ than you do. Med student remember?”

He pushed himself up. She wasn’t going to be deterred and he couldn't find himself _actually_ want to fight it.

“Pre-med if I remember right,” he said as her hand came to grasp his lightly, pulling him toward the bed. He followed, snagging his pillow from the floor.

She curled up next to the wall and he settled in beside to her, careful to give her space.

“I still know more about these things than you do,” she whispered, her eyes already falling closed.

His were drifting shut too when he felt her head come to rest beside his shoulder, her hand tightening around his. He fell asleep moments later, a small smile on his face.

* * *

He woke up before her the next day, her lips a breath away from his, her face calm and clear and he knew that things were different. It was a blissfully terrifying realization.

One way or another, he was going to ask her out and tell her how much she meant to him.

She might say no—regardless that the voice in his head said she was probably right there with him—but he couldn’t keep kidding himself anymore. The anticipation of finally having the truth on the table had a smile forming on his face as he got up.

It only grew at the sight of her brow, furrowed in slow response to his movement.

“Mmmph...what time is it?” she groaned, arm tossed over her eyes.

“Nine-thirty,” he said, pulling a shirt over his head, not missing the way her eyes widened slowly as she watched him. He tried to keep his smirk to a minimum and failed pretty miserably.

“I’ve got work at 10,” he bent to stuff a notebook into his backpack, “Stay as long as you want though.”

“You’re a terrible host, you know that?” she said, sitting up, hands pushing back through her hair.

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask you to show up at my doorstep last night,” he shot back, teasing, from where he sat at his desk tying his shoes.

“You want to go out for food tonight?” he asked before she could respond, going for nonchalant.

Her answer was immediate.

“No.”

He thought maybe his heart stopped.

“I can’t. Raven and O are kidnapping me for a girls-night-slash-sleepover tonight. Non-negotiable,” she reached down for her bag where it rested on the floor, pulling out her sketchpad, “Tomorrow though?”

He grinned. Breathed.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” he stopped to press a kiss to her cheek on his way out the door, “Later.”

“Bye Bell.”

She looked good sitting in his bed, he thought. She looked good anywhere.

* * *

“I have to admit to some ulterior motives for calling this girl’s night,” Octavia piped up. She, Raven, and Clarke were sprawled across the floor of the latter girls’ room, polish drying on their nails and 10 Things I Hate About You playing on the screen of Clarke’s laptop in front of them.

“What are you talking about?”

“When are you and my brother going to admit that you’re dating?” Before Clarke could sputter a response, Octavia was going on, “And I don’t mean that you’re like, keeping it a secret or anything, just that you’re both a bit too dense to realize that you do absolutely _everything_ together.” She looked to Raven for confirmation, and the other girl nodded in agreement. “You’re dating in everything but name at this point.”

When she’d finished, Clarke had collected herself somewhat, a contemplative look on her face.

After a moment, she opened her mouth to speak, glancing distractedly down at her lilac nails, “We’re also not making out or anything, which is kind of disappointing if what you’re saying is true…I should be capitalizing on that.” She was going for deadpan sarcasm, but found herself actually meaning the words. _So far gone. Get it together, Clarke_. She glanced up to take in Raven and Octavia’s shocked faces.

“Sorry, that’s probably not the response you were expecting.”

Octavia held up a finger, perplexed look on her face, “So...if you’re not denying that you’re attracted to him…then why _aren’t_ you dating?”

“I dunno Octavia,” Clarke sighed, rolling to look up at the ceiling, arms splayed out at her sides, “I’m…scared I guess? Not so much that he doesn’t like me back, but…” she hesitated, working to put her thoughts to words, “I don’t know. He’s _important._ And if this somehow ends up going wrong…I don’t know if I could take that.”

Then Octavia was tackling her, wet nails be damned, holding her tight.

“O—what are you…?”

“You two are both such idiots, you know that?” her words were distorted where her face was pressed to Clarke’s shoulder.

The younger girl lifted her head to speak clearly, “You’re both so damn crazy about each other that you don’t see how much happier you’d both be if you were actually _together._ ”

Clarke sighed and pushed herself—and by extension, Octavia—up, looking over to catch Raven’s eyes. Her best friend was nodding, “She’s right. It’s nauseating really. Please put us all out of our misery.”

Clarke laughed, pulling back from Octavia, who was grinning at her now too.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it,” she said, eliciting a loud _whoop_ from Octavia. _As if it hadn’t been the only thing on her mind for days now._ “Now come on,” she said, gesturing back to the screen, “He’s about to serenade her on the bleachers. This is the best part.”

"You want me to get Bellamy to do that?" Octavia teased, nudging Clarke's shoulder with her own, "I bet he would."

"Shut up, O," she returned, and if she humored the idea for a second, no one needed to know.

* * *

Turns out Clarke didn’t actually need much time to think about her feelings for Bellamy. Or rather, she only thought she did.

Friday night found her bouncing around her room to Taylor Swift, getting ready to head to dinner with Bellamy. The fact that she wasn’t nervous at all might have tipped her off, if she was paying attention to that kind of thing.

But Raven was out with Wick, who’d turned out to be much more than a one-night stand, which meant that Clarke could blast _Shake it Off_ as loud as she wanted without having to dodge her roommate’s glares.

She brushed a finishing coat of mascara over her lashes, twisted the applicator closed, and skipped over to the closet. Pushing through her hangers to the beat of the song, humming under her breath, she came to a stop at her favorite, softest sweater, and pulled it off the hanger and over her head.

She tugged it down past the waist of her jeans, closed the closet door and proceeded to continue her dance around the room, hairbrush-mic and all, because why not? She felt _good._

She was halfway through a really, quite good rendition of the bridge—“And to the fella over there with the hella good hair…”—one hand over her head, the other holding the brush close to her mouth, crooning animatedly, when a pointed cough had her shrieking, clutching the brush-mic to her chest as she spun to face the intruder.

…Only to find that it was Bellamy, wicked smile on his face.

“Jesus Bell, would you knock next time? You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she hissed halfheartedly, dropping the brush on her desk.

He grinned wider, if that was even possible. “The door was bolted open,” he said, shrugging apologetically as he shut said door behind him, “I didn’t know I’d be interrupting rehearsal.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, ignoring the familiar flutter in her stomach that was permanently associated with his presence, “Shut up.”

Then an idea lit in her eyes. She placed one hand on her hip and extended the other toward him, expectant look on her face.

His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Dance with me,” she said, her voice stronger than she expected considering that she was fighting to keep her legs from shaking, “I embarrassed myself in front of you, so it’s only fair if you return the favor.”

He hesitated a moment longer and she wiggled her outstretched fingers at him, eyebrows raised, playful smile at her lips.

Finally, he stepped forward to take her hand—and then surprised her by stepping closer still to place his other at her waist.

“What are you…?”

“We’re dancing right?” There was a teasing smile at his lips. “This is the only way I know how,” he said, nodding to where his hands were positioned.

Slowly, she moved the hand not claimed by his to rest on his shoulder, tentative hope growing in her chest. “I don’t think this is really how T-Swift expected people to dance to her music,” she murmured, leaning forward to rest her cheek against his chest as they began to sway back and forth, not quite in time to the song.

She felt, rather than heard, his chuckle, “I’m pretty sure she won’t mind.”

 _This_ , she thought as a comfortable silence stretched, _might be where the weight finally tips_. It terrified her and made her heart leap in her chest.

The song drew to a close and their swaying ceased too, until it was just Clarke and Bellamy—ex-roommates, somehow-still-friends—and her room, his former one, stood silent and still around them.

“Here we are again then, huh?” Bellamy said almost playfully after a while, glancing fleetingly around at the room, “You wanna yell and call me an asshole again, for old times’ sake?”

His words were casual, but the look in his eyes had her forgetting the qualms that had been running continuously through her head.

This was _Bellamy_ , and she was sure.

Heart in her throat, she lifted her head from his chest, moving her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Carefully, keeping her eyes from meeting his, she pushed up on her toes and, before she could lose her nerve, pressed her lips softly to his.

She pulled back before he could respond, still not meeting his eyes, “I’d, um, really like not to go back to that. Ever. If that’s alright with you.”

With the words of her mouth she took a deep breath and finally lifted her eyes to his.

His hand released hers and her stomach dropped for a second until it came to rest at her waist. A slow smile spread across his face and she couldn’t keep one from forming on her own.

“I think I can agree to that,” he murmured, pulling her back to him, his lips descending to hers, all warmth and _magic_. And maybe it was a little awkward, because they were both smiling still, but it was _perfect_ and she didn’t want anything else.

Still, she pulled back again after a moment, words rushing past her lips, “Here’s the thing though, you’re probably my best friend—and if you tell Raven I said that, I _will_ kill you—but the point is, I don’t want to fuck that up if this goes wrong and…”

“Clarke.”

She tilted her head to meet his eyes, her gaze passing his wide grin on its way there.

“It’s not going to go wrong,” he said quietly, earnestly. He seemed to consider for a second, “And even if it does, it’s not gonna change that we’re best friends. I think the shit we’ve been through already kind of proves that, Princess.”

She didn’t even try to keep the crazy grin from her face, “Didn’t I say you’re not allowed to call me that if we’re going to be friends?”

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re not just friends then.”

She only lasted a few seconds before she cracked.

“Oh, my god,” she laughed, dropping her forehead to his shoulder, “How long have you been planning that line?”

“A while,” he said matter-of-factly, “Possibly since the time you first said it.”

His words had her reminiscing back to that day at the coffee shop, the day they’d decided to stop pretending that they weren’t friends.

She looked up at him then, her breathing catching, laughter cutting off, at the intensity and _honesty_ in his expression and if she hadn’t been sure before, she knew now that he’d been falling alongside her, all this time.

Her words, after a few quiet seconds, were a whisper, “I’m kind of crazy about you, you know?”

“I know,” he said, his lips a breath away from hers, “Me too.”

As he kissed her again, her hands moving up into his hair, his spanning her waist, it wasn’t hard to believe that this might work out. That _they_ might work. Perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back at the first chapter and seeing how much I’ve learned since then is pretty cool and it’s stupidly amazing that there are people who stuck with me throughout this whole thing. If you’re reading this, I’m so grateful you took the time to read this silly little story. You're rad. <3 
> 
> Come hang with me on tumblr: www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com


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